EverFixed Mark
by Iscah McKrae
Summary: "No, really, Jess…how come you never got married?" Chapter 31: "Luke did *not* see the crack den." - NOT part of the "Pay the Piper" storyverse.
1. Maybe

_Ever-Fixed Mark_

Dusk. Crickets. Porch. Lorelai and Luke's. _Why does it only smell this way at twilight?_

"No, really, Jess…how come you never got married?" she asked, slipping into the easy, casual friendship/family kind of chat they'd managed to get comfortable with over the years. Golden light from the doorway reflected in his eyes, contradicting the evening azure. Over her shoulder, Jess saw Lorelai through the screen door, dessert plates in hand, halt suddenly and retreat - expression clearly _not gonna touch _that_ conversation with a ten-foot pole! _His lips twitched at this, and his eyes darted to the ground, and then back to Rory's inquiry. He shrugged.

"Couldn't subject a woman to that," he said, his characteristic smoky drawl laced with less pronounced sarcasm than he'd sported in years gone by. Rory grimaced lightly, holding out her hands in a gesture of _what's that supposed to mean?_ He returned the frown - more of a _don't give me that!_ scowl. "Come on…having to put up with _me_, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week…_year_ after _year_…_a lifetime!_ I'm just not that sadistic." She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, prompting the easy, soft smile that let Rory know that somewhere along the line, Jess had finally made peace with himself. In a moment, he pulled a squint-one-eye-and-shrug - _Did anyone but Jess do that? - _and half-contradicted his previous statement. "Came close a couple times, _actually got engaged once._" The last part was said leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper, which indicated that this was a rare piece of information even Luke may not have been privy to.

"_Really?_ What happened?" Curiosity colored her tone, and his eyes dropped away from hers a fraction of an inch, hoping that even this wouldn't let her read him as well as she sometimes could. He knew he couldn't let her look in his eyes. Occasionally, that was still dangerous…could reveal things best kept hidden. His lower lip protruded slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Just didn't work out." Didn't work out because she'd known him just as well as Rory ever had, and wasn't quite so blind. She read the words on his page, and knew things about him that he even hid from himself. She couldn't live with ghosts. He didn't expect her to. Couldn't subject a woman to that.

"Just as vague and cryptic as ever." She shook her head again, as if to say, _utterly hopeless._

"Part of my charm," he intoned, half of his mouth twisting upward in his disarming cocky half-grin that belied itself with self deprecating words. "If I wasn't mysterious, people would realize how boring I was. Literary poison." She laughed. His smile softened. The gentle look of worry and relief in his eyes would have stopped her laughter if she'd seen it. But twilight disguised it in a dim haze. Her laughter was beautiful. Reassuring. _Maybe she was okay._


	2. Family Bramble

_Earlier that day…_

Rory tried to position herself as out-of-the-way as she could in the dining room, while still using her laptop on one corner of the table, in the only spot, apparently, in the house that she could plug it in without somehow overloading a circuit and causing very loud noises to come from the kitchen, either in the form of Luke shouting or Sookie crashing.

Well, technically, if she'd used one of the outlets in the living room, she wouldn't have overloaded an electrical circuit, but she would have overloaded a circuit in her brain, as TJ could be heard vociferously lauding the many attributes of cellophane to a tortured Christopher Hayden, for some reason that Rory really didn't want to know, but was certain she'd find out before the evening was over.

TJ certainly wasn't the only cause for the chaos, though. Jackson was trying to reason with all of his children, and …well, all of everyone else's children too, though she couldn't make out what he was saying over TJ's enthusiasm. Whatever the import of the lecture, he didn't seem to be making much headway. As he did this, Liz was busy trying to distract the kids with crafts, as if this was somehow helpful to the process.

Lorelai was on the phone, holding baby Chase on the opposite hip, and wishing, with all the wishing that was in her, that the delay which was keeping her parents' arrival at bay would delay them much, much longer. "…_the holiday season would be nice!" _she heard Lorelai tell Sookie mock-chipperly as the former sat listening to on-hold music and the latter passed with a precariously balanced, large platter.

April occupied another corner of the dining room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, presumably for a similar reason, though Rory couldn't quite figure out why April preferred this location to her old room, considering the fact that her book did not require a cord, and therefore wouldn't overload any circuits. She shrugged. Oh well. It was companionable, even if Sookie did almost trip over April's shoe every time she went past.

Rory paused in her keyboard tapping to marvel over the fact that everyone in this crowded house was somehow related to her - well, technically speaking, except for Sookie and Jackson and their kids, but they really _were_ family, after all - and there were still four people missing! She stopped and checked to see if she was forgetting anybody. She must be forgetting somebody. No. Four. Unless you wanted to bring in all the exes, etc. In which case, they'd be joined by Sherry, Nicole, Jimmy, Sasha and Lily…and maybe Anna…depending on how you wanted to count things…wait…Liz had lots more exes than that, didn't she? Suddenly four sounded _just right_. Even if she _would_ have loved it if Lane and company had been able to join them. It was only right that they spend today with Mama Kim, though. She just missed the opportunity to talk to Lane…_sheesh!_ Just to look at her across the room would be nice.

It was strange, but somehow fitting - the old house had been remodeled so many times. Parts of it were so familiar, and yet, here in the dining room, it was hard to believe that she sat in what she and her mom used to affectionately refer to as _The Crap Shack_. These new pieces of the house, rooms and alcoves, and doors, and decks, gradually became familiar, just as their human counterparts came to be more and more comfortably thought of as _family. _Though, heaven help anybody who decided to undertake compiling a comprehensive family tree.

In all the noise, nobody heard the knock at the front door. He would have let himself in if one of the smaller occupants of the house hadn't diligently locked it, and the blasted turtle hadn't disappeared. Babette still probably would have called on poor old Coop if he'd picked the lock. All in all, it was probably better not to chance it. He went around to the kitchen door instead.

The first Rory heard of the exchange was Luke's voice, audibly grinning from ear to ear, saying something that was drowned out by one of Sookie's pan lids clattering to the floor. She didn't have to hear the words, or the reply to know that Jess had arrived. He was the only one Luke spoke to in _that_ tone of voice.

"Yeah, well, I managed to get an earlier flight." His voice shrugged.

"I still would've come and picked you up!" Luke insisted, smiling but lecturing all the same.

"And left the kitchen to Sookie? _Your_ kitchen?" She couldn't see the skeptical look on his face, but she knew it was there nonetheless. Somewhere during this exchange, April dropped her book to her lap, happiness lighting her features.

"Jess!" she exclaimed loudly, springing to her feet. Having heard his name called, Jess was in the doorway as soon as she opened the kitchen door, and Rory's eyes widened as she saw Jess return his cousin's hug with frank affection. It wasn't something she would have visualized either of them doing. She wasn't the least bit surprised that Liz raced in at the sound of her son's name.

"My baby!" she crowed. Again, Rory was surprised that he suffered himself to be hugged by his mother, and even kissed on the cheek, with a cringe that only the most finely tuned eye, which Rory's was, would have picked up on.

"Good to see you," he told her, and appeared to mean the words genuinely, though Rory noted that he left off any form of address, so he wouldn't have to hurt her by saying 'Liz' or himself by saying 'Mom.'

_And the hits just keep on comin'! _Rory thought, jaw threatening to come unhinged, as she beheld her own mother walk in and hug Jess, him return it, and then actually press a kiss to baby Chase's temple. He even tried to scoop up four-year-old Trevor, though Trevor decidedly did not allow himself to be scooped. _This is his aunt. These are his cousins,_ she reminded herself. _Nope. Still weird._ She looked down at her computer screen for a moment. _SO_ _weird!_

How on earth it took Doula so long to get in on this whole effusive family greeting with her brother's arrival was a general mystery…unless she'd been upstairs, outside, or in the bathroom. Wherever she'd been, she made up for lost time by barreling into the room and leaping into his arms with what could be accurately described as a monkey hug. He let out a pained and startled, "_Oof! HEL-lo!" _He looked at her wide-eyed. "_Holy-spanoli_, you're gettin' heavy!" he remarked.

"_Jess!_" his mother scolded, "You don't say that to a girl!" He blinked at his sister.

"Oh, right. Sorry. What _am_ I supposed to say?" he asked the girl pertly.

"I love you," she directed impishly.

"_Huh!_ Really?" he smirked. "Is _that_ what I'm supposed to say, Dwarfling?"

"I've gotten taller!" she objected loudly to his standard nickname for her. His eyebrows flickered.

"Prove it!" he challenged, setting her on her feet. She stood against him, straightening as tall as ramrod posture and slight tip-toeing could do it. His smirk and twinkling eyes graced her still short stature with all the respect due a one-inch growth spurt. "You've gotten taller!" he declared.

"You still didn't say it!" she accused. Her brother tilted his head to one side, shaking it slowly in amusement.

"All right, all right - I love you. _Happy?"_ He tweaked her ear slightly as he said it, and she grinned as broadly as her eight-and-three-quarters-year-old face would contain.

He'd known she was sitting there the whole time. Somehow, though, after his sister coaxed those three words from his lips, he lost all willpower to confine his gaze to the near side of the room. It wasn't the timing he wished for. Quite the opposite, actually. But, semi-conscious impulses control us far more powerfully than the conscious ones.


	3. Terrible Poker Face

_He'd known she was sitting there the whole time. Somehow, though, after his sister coaxed those three words from his lips, he lost all willpower to confine his gaze to the near side of the room. It wasn't the timing he wished for. Quite the opposite, actually. But, semi-conscious impulses control us far more powerfully than the conscious ones._

"Hey," he said softly, in greeting, sauntering over to where she was sitting, in the corner of the room…at the corner of the table. Somehow, he seemed to leave everyone else behind, though he'd hardly taken two steps. How was it that he went from this other-worldly creature who walked in Jess' body, but gave hugs and greetings, and even kisses and words like _I love you_ to members of her family and his, to…_Jess…_in one word, and only the space of half-a-second?

"Hey, yourself," she answered, a small, comfortable smile gracing her lips. His eyes were peaceful for another half-second before something flitted behind them. He seemed to take in more than her expression. More than her voice. And, woven into his expression, barely perceptible, was something she could only call fear. Her eyes couldn't meet that look, however carefully it was woven into the casual normalcy of his gaze.

"You look…nice," he said, but there was something in the words, too. Not the words themselves, per se, but the way he said them. As if he were judging, weighing something, and she wanted him to stop. The words said _nice_, but the tone said _too nice…why? _She struggled to deflect. She knew there was a reason that no matter how badly she wanted to see him, a part of her had hoped he wouldn't be able to make it back from his book tour in time. She knew she'd be able to fool everybody, even Lorelai…but, Jess…she'd never been able to fool Jess.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said lightly, making believe she'd been totally blind and deaf to his…his what? Whatever that was. She was ignoring it. It was subtle, and she was ignoring it. She let her eyes twinkle, and made a swirling motion with her finger, instructing him to take a turn, so she could see how "not so bad" he looked from all angles. He sighed. He turned. But not without complaining. Kind of.

"I just got off a plane, Rory." She smiled at the fact that he did her bidding. She'd more than half expected him to balk. To flat-out refuse. But, instead, he did it.

"I like the new jacket," she appraised approvingly, looking at the supple, sleek leather that replaced both the old bulky but beloved motorcycle jacket and the attractive denim that he'd worn to threads. "Your hair's cut too short. Terrible waste of curls," she mused, clucking her tongue. He rolled his eyes at this. "But…altogether satisfactory. You'll pass." Her _lording it over him _tone was just what the doctor ordered.

"Why, thank you," he said with sarcasm that was thick, but not over-thick.

"How'd the tour go?" she asked, smiling. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Signed a lot of books," he said simply. That was infuriatingly Jess. _Could we display a firmer grip on the obvious, please?_

"Well…where's mine?" she demanded, teasingly.

"Your…?" he feigned ignorance.

"Don't play dumb. You can't pull it off!" she mocked.

"Neither can you," he muttered, half under his breath, and she looked daggers at him. Was he really calling her bluff? That wasn't even possible, was it? _No…well…maybe, but he doesn't know what kind of cards I'm bluffing about. He couldn't._

"I have an entire shelf dedicated to Jess Mariano first editions," she informed him, making a single eyebrow raise in modest surprise, and clearly honest gratification. "It would be a shame for the collection to be incomplete. I know that I can always go out and buy it, and you know that I always will…but the copy that I get from your hands…well…that's a true collector's item - isn't it?" Her eyes twinkled in subtle challenge. _Huh! She thinks of me as a real author!…Of COURSE, she thinks of you as a real author. What ELSE is she gonna think of you as?…a fake?…No, but a REALLY, real author!…You're pathetic, you know that, right? All these years, and it still only matters what one person thinks. The rest of the world is irrelevant._ He sighed and reached into his messenger bag, taking out a dark-colored book, and flipping it into her waiting hands. "Hey! Watch it!" she exclaimed, mindful of the condition of her brand-new book.

In true Rory form, she flipped it open on the spot and began to read. He was grateful she didn't inquire about the dedication. It was cryptic as always, so although the recipient of his silent thanks might never come to know of his real gratitude, page three didn't contain the essence of gushing Oscars acceptance speeches, a practice which Jess had spurned, as it always made him want to hurl with its sticky sweetness.

He realized, in amusement, that there was no point in continuing to stand there. He ignored the lukewarm greeting TJ flung his way, not bothering to wonder at the fact that it contained the word _cellophane,_ and the cool suspicion with which Christopher haltingly took stock of him - as far as he was concerned, the feeling was mutual - and pulled a paperback from the rear pocket of his pants and took up residence in the third, and only available corner of the room. April glanced up approvingly from behind the cover of her book. Rory didn't look up from the page, but for the first time in a long, long time, her face was bathed in serene satisfaction.

_**A/N: I ache and starve for reviews…without them, I may simply perish, wither, die…and be unable to ever write another word.**_


	4. Audrey

"If you're going for an 'Audrey,' you gotta go more eyebrows." Rory was standing in front of a mirror in the hallway, touching up her makeup. He couldn't resist commenting on the fact. He'd never seen her wear this much makeup, and he'd certainly never actually observed her putting it on. Jess had come noiselessly behind her, and his voice made her jump, getting liquid liner burningly into her eye, and smearing wet blackness hodgepodge over the lid. "Sorry 'bout that," he fumbled, seeing evidence surrounding her rapid blinking that her thick mascara was waterproof. "Didn't mean to…you know." She tried to laugh it off as nonchalantly as it was possible to do when she couldn't actually open her eyes long enough to look at him.

"No worries. I see out of the other eye. This one's just for decoration." He grinned, despite the fact that he was still concerned he may have inadvertently blinded her for life.

"Can I, uh…?" He motioned vaguely, mentally berating himself since she couldn't see the gestures. Strangely, with her eyes closed, she still knew what he meant.

"Are you kidding? You think I'd let somebody _else_ poke their finger in my eye? It isn't that I don't trust you, it's just that _I_ don't put my finger in my eye. There's a reason I've never worn contacts!"

"Other than your 20/20 vision…" he surmised, shaking his head.

"Green could have been cool…or lavender…go all Liz Taylor…" Her eyes were still closed. Recovering.

"With your blue skies? Terrible waste."

"Aw…sweet. Who are you, by the way? I don't think we've met," she teased lightly, holding out her hand for an introduction as if she was dead serious.

"The name's Jack Dawkins," he replied, but the burning was too intense for optimal brain function. "Here…come on, let me look at that," he insisted, pulling her wrist gently away and beginning to put a hand to her face.

"_No!_" she screeched, pulling away. "Jess, I'm fine…just…" she laughed at how violently he had jumped in his own turn at her panicked exclamation. "I'm fine, Jess," she assured him. "It just stings."

"You're sure you're not just trying to get back at me for scaring you out of your skin?" he asked, chuckling at his own minor heart attack.

"Bonus points," she smiled, trying to look at the redness of her eye in the mirror.

"I'm afraid, I really spoiled the effect," he lamented, noting that almost the entire left upper quadrant of her face was smudged in black. "Although, I still maintain that-" Jess began, but was interrupted by a small hurricane that came and claimed Rory's leg.

"Mommy, Doula hit me!" This tattling tongue came in the form of her beloved tousle-haired little boy with the big blue eyes.

"What did you do to her?" she asked in true mother knowingness.

"I only said that-" he stopped, taking in his mother's tears and her hand shielding her left eye, a worried frown crinkling his fair eyebrows. "What's the matter?" he asked, little thundercloud face suddenly looking from Rory to Jess, as if ready to hold him accountable for damages. Rory laughed.

"Nothing. I just got something in my eye - Now, what did you say to Doula?" The little boy paused, whether to assess the veracity of his mother's statement or to change gears from one subject to the next, it was unclear.

"I just said that Chase is a much _nicer_ baby brother than Tony," he repeated this insistent slur in an emphatic, solemn tone that caused a _Huh-HA! _burst of laughter from Jess before he could stop himself. Rory shot him a look, and the laugh turned into a cough. "And, she _hit_ me!" Trevor continued indignantly. Rory found herself amused by the whole situation, and momentarily debated whether to really address the matter. After all, with a four-year-old, you learn to pick your battles, and tact tends to run low on the priority list.

"You _do_ realize that Tony's _his_ baby brother too?" she pointed out to her son, indicating Jess, and the little boy turned thunder-cloudy again, and took a quick step backward, just in case violence toward brother-insulters was hereditary. The motion caused Jess another burst of laughter, but he was more careful to smother this one. The laughter earned still deeper scowls, and Rory took the little boy's chin and turned it so he'd look at her again. "That really _wasn't _a very nice thing to say. She loves her baby brother just as much as you love yours. You wouldn't like it if somebody said mean things about Chase, would you?" The little boy shook his head reluctantly. "I'd like you to go tell Doula that you're sorry."

"But _she_ hit _me!_" the mite objected, certain that his mother had gotten things backward somehow.

"_Trevor?_" Patented mom-tone.

"_Fine,_" he acquiesced reluctantly, and turned to the unfairness of the living room and all that awaited him there.

Jess laughed softly as the little boy turned the corner and was out of sight. "Might wanna check on that in a minute," he commented. "You know, make sure Doula doesn't give a repeat performance." She nodded. "Then again, maybe I should go check while you stay here and fix that," he said, pointing to the left side of her face. "You go out there looking like that and somebody's gonna think I _hit_ you," he joked. She turned away, looking back at the mirror again.

"You're probably right," she agreed, though her voice sounded less like she was joking and more like she was bemoaning the state of her face. "_Would_ you mind, going and checking on them?"

"As you wish," he acquiesced, bound for the next room. When he returned, she was nearly finished repairing the near-flawless look she had when he first came up. "All quiet on the western front," he informed her.

"Thank you," she replied absently, concentrating on the last curve of the Cleopatra-esque eyeliner.

"Meant to ask…what's with…you know?" he asked, motioning vaguely towards her, head-to-toe. She looked at him with a serious, almost blank expression that seemed to indicate that, in fact, she did not know. He shrugged a little. "The dress…the makeup. You look like you're about to go out clubbing - not to a family dinner. You tryin' to impress somebody?" She looked suddenly stricken, and…almost afraid…deer-in-the-headlights. "I don't mean that-" he hastened to amend, seeing her expression and condemning himself for it. "You look…_good._ I just…_wondered." _He shrugged fully, this time, shoulders almost touching his ears.

Rory's eyes flashed in what was supposed to be humor, and a counterfeit smile spread across her face. "Girls have to get all wild and crazy every once in awhile, just to break the monotony. Anything wrong with that?" she asked challengingly. He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. Her eyes dodged away.

"Nope." He sunk his hands into his pockets and strolled away, conscious that she no longer wanted his company. He wasn't sure what it meant, but it gnawed at the pit of his stomach. This time the shrug was internal. He examined the wood grain of the floor, and joined the family in the living room.

_**A/N: Thank you for the bee-you-tiful reviews. I honestly get panicky and think that everything I've written is terrible if I don't get them…which interferes with the continued writing process. So, those of you who review both inspire me and really do ensure that my stories continue. Reader feedback frequently shapes my stories more than anything else…sparking entirely new concepts. So, again - thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who give me the tremendous gift of your feedback, both for this and all my other stories!**_


	5. Friday Nights Never Change

_**A/N: Okay, buckle up. This chapter moves quickly, and may or may not make much sense…you'll have to let me know. I found it hilarious halfway through writing it, and now I'm too tired to find it anything but, hopefully, finished. ;-)**_

By some miracle of physics, twenty-four people sat in the dining room. There's no use trying to elaborate on the seating arrangements, because with this number of people, no one present was able to keep track…really keep track of where anybody was - particularly since Luke and Sookie kept hopping up and making trips to the kitchen; parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles kept shuttling back and forth from the adults' table to the kids' table, keeping order and food on children's plates; and baby Tony, Liz and TJ's youngest, seemed to be the most portable person in the room, being handed back and forth, taking a turn on almost everybody's lap. Chase on the other hand, was Grandma Lorelai's especial property, as she'd claimed that he was _her baby_ for the duration of the visit, since she got to see him so seldom. Rory didn't complain, but reveled awkwardly in her newfound marginal freedom. She only had to keep half-an-eye on Trevor, as the kids' table was under everyone's supervision.

It was also miraculous to be able to make out what anyone was saying, as four or five separate conversations seemed to be happening at all times.

This chaotic state of affairs probably took the biggest toll on Emily Gilmore, as she was accustomed to such lavish, structured, formal dinner parties, where no matter how many the guests, things were still peaceful. Whoever had seated her next to Liz had a particularly evil sense of humor. Rory noted her grandmother's discomfort, and sent a worried glance over to her mom, who looked like the cat who got the cream, first batting her eyelashes innocently, and then giving in to a wicked smirk. Rory rolled her eyes.

Jess was growing so mind-bashingly tired of the subject of cellophane that he even brought up etch-a-sketches in a measure of desperation. Let's just say, it didn't help matters.

Richard nodded quasi-politely as Jackson elaborated on this years eggplant crop, and Sookie piped in with all of her favorite eggplant recipes and the occasions for which they could be served.

April was animatedly describing something to do with the mating rituals, hunting habits and hibernation patterns of… Rory couldn't quite catch what animal she was talking about. Maybe she was talking about more than one animal. Regardless, Gigi kept trying to change the subject to a TV show she'd been obsessed with lately, and Christopher looked like he wanted somebody to put a bullet through his brain.

As Rory took in the last of this fiasco in dismay, she looked back to her mother to offer her long-distance sympathies on such a failure… Just before she reached Lorelai's eyes, she remembered her mother's previous expression, and _knew_ what it would look like now. If she'd looked pleased before, now she looked positively triumphant. Luke, however, was looking a little queasy. Rory bit her lips together. Her eyes scanned the room once more, and she was glad of the general confusion, because she really couldn't hold in her laughter. Suddenly, neither could Lorelai.

"What is so funny?" Emily demanded, brusquely, causing Liz to break off mid-sentence. Lorelai doubled over, and Rory could hardly breathe. Emily rolled her eyes in blatant irritation.

"_Nothing!_" Lorelai finally managed to squeak out.

Jess leaned forward, glancing over at the convulsing Lorelais with a bemused expression as Emily's, "_Really, Lorelai!_" expressed her full displeasure.

"So, Rory," Richard began in his full, strong voice, catching a moment when Sookie had paused for breath, and pretending that was the end of her commentary on eggplant and veal stew. "You said that your husband is away on business. Are you allowed to say _what_ business, or is it a deep, dark secret? Because, I for one, am vitally interested." Rory opened her mouth to reply, but was cut short.

"Should've been able to _wait_, whatever it was," Emily murmured testily as if it were supposed to be under her breath.

"_Emily_…" Richard said in protracted annoyance.

Since she had been addressed, she felt the right to speak at a normal, if not elevated volume. "Well, it _should,_" she insisted. "Business should never be allowed to supersede family obligation." Luke glanced up, momentarily, unnerved by the fact that he actually agreed with something coming out of Emily Gilmore's mouth. Clearly, though, her husband did not.

"He is an important _man_, Emily. And, frequently, important _men_ have important things to _do,_" he responded in a condescending, instructional tone. Emily deliberately took on a bored attitude.

"Yes, men always have the important things to do." She raised her eyebrows superciliously, and took a very deliberate bite of her green beans.

Lorelai glanced upward. "These mashed potatoes are so creamy!" A subtle smirk crossed Jess' face. Richard's tone became understatedly hostile.

"Yes, Emily. Every once in a great while, men have _very_ _important things to do!"_ His chest was puffed out in indignation, and showed every sign of his wife's placid demeanor flustering him, while he tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Cesar Romero was tall," Jess chimed in. Lorelai and Rory looked up with a wide-awake sparkle.

"Cesar Romero was not Spanish," Rory corrected.

"Oh, could you _be_ any more _condescending…_" Emily fumed.

Jess leaned forward. "I didn't say Cesar Romero was Spanish."

"Well, what did you say?" Rory asked.

"I said Cesar Romero was tall," he replied.

"We all know he's tall," Rory directed to Jess once again.

"Well, that's what I said. Cesar Romero is tall. That's all I said," Jess volleyed adamantly.

Emily looked across the table in irritation. "What has Cesar Romero got to do with anything? Who brought up Cesar Romero?…Lorelai!"

Lorelai smirked, but didn't dare lift her eyes from her plate, from which she took a large bite of stuffing. "These mashed potatoes are so creamy!" she said with her mouth half full.

"Lorelai…_What_ has gotten _into_ you?" her mother questioned in confused consternation.

"They're quoting a movie," April stated matter-of-factly, which caused Lorelai to put down her fork harder than she meant to, Rory to sigh, and Jess to turn to her with narrowed eyes, and a sad shake of the head, which showed clearly his disappointment in her betrayal. She addressed him directly, answering his glare. "I haven't _gone_ to the dark side. I've always _been_ on the dark side."

"_What?_" Emily asked, thinking the girl was still talking to her.

"Another…movie…" Luke answered Emily's puzzlement, and she rolled her eyes. Luke was secretly pleased that his daughter was able to keep up with Lorelai, Rory and Jess, and still more pleased that she'd actually referenced something that he recognized.

Lorelai turned to Luke, with a sudden ultra-dramatic visage and began speaking in a very deep voice "Luke…" She simulated mechanical breathing. "…_You…are…her…father…_" Rory choked on her Pellegrino, Luke rolled his eyes, and Jess leveled an extraordinarily bored stare in her direction.

"Now, that was just bad!" he groaned dismally.

"Yes, but you have _no IDEA _how long I've been waiting to say that!"

"About as long as you've known April?" Jess mused.

"Well, yeah…about that long," Lorelai admitted reluctantly.

"What stopped you?"

"I was waiting for a really great opening."

"That wasn't it," Jess deadpanned. Lorelai pouted. Rory looked from her mother to Jess and back again with an internal Jess-like _Huh!_ Lorelai didn't give her pout to just anybody. Impressive.

Rory reached for the gravy boat and was about to pour some of its contents onto her turkey when she took note of the fact that Gigi was staring at her intently.

"I love your eyes," the twelve-year-old remarked with the tone of an observer. It took Rory aback, and she poured the gravy slowly, trying to figure out what to make of this.

"Why, thank you," she said, blinking confusedly at the unusual compliment.

"I mean, not just your eyes. You've got the same eyes you always do, but the way you've made them up is really pretty!" Jess rolled his eyes.

"I know! Right?" April piped in on the topic. "I was telling her that this afternoon. I mean, Rory has really pretty eyes to begin with, but she is completely _rocking_ that look! You look _a-MAZ-ing!_" Rory blushed and looked down at the table. Jess mentally admitted defeat. Her _wild and crazy_ look certainly was _breaking up the monotony._

"I wish I knew how to do it," Gigi said, regretfully. "Rory, could you teach me?" Rory smiled.

"Hey," Christopher said, looking at his daughter sidelong. "You're _way_ too young to be wearing that kind of makeup, kid. For you that's called _dress-up. IF_ Rory wants to teach you." His daughter heaved a lugubrious sigh.

April looked over at her step-sister. "Could you teach me too? 'Cause, seriously, whenever I do it, it looks like somebody punched me in both eyes," she commented with a roll of said eyes, and an obvious frustration at fashion in general and her self-perceived lack of talent with cosmetic brushes. Rory didn't answer right away, and Liz dove right in.

"You know, if Rory doesn't _want_ to teach you, I always could! I used to _love_ the dramatic Liz Taylor, Cleopatra look. I wore it _all the time_ in high school. It was my signature look. I mean, it was pretty cool, since she was Liz and I was Liz…it just-"

"Luke, this stuffing is incredible!" Rory enthused, stopping Liz mid-sentence for the second time in one evening. Liz's face registered surprise and a vague sense of embarrassment, wondering if she'd overstepped her boundaries, after all Rory was April's step-sister, and she had asked _her_ for help. Maybe Rory was touchy about stuff like that. Or maybe she just really liked stuffing. The compliment pulled Luke out of the absent stupor he usually retreated into when women began to talk of makeup or shoes or anything of that variety, really. "Mine always comes out so dry." Rory continued rapidly. "Especially if I make it with cornbread - this is cornbread, right?" Luke nodded a confirmation. "And, the spices…it's not just your usual stuffing spices, which is why I'm surprised I like it so much because, I _love_ stuffing, and everybody knows that the spices are what make stuffing, stuffing. So you'd think that if somebody messed with the spices that I _wouldn't_ like it, but this is _really_ good stuffing!"

Jess suddenly looked sideways at Rory with piercing scrutiny, and as his eyes came back to center, he noticed that Lorelai was giving her the same look. Momentarily, Lorelai's eyes locked to his in a shared look of apprehension. They abruptly looked away at the same moment. The look breached the unspoken agreement they had never to discuss Rory…it was the only way they'd gotten where they were now.

"What movie talks about cornbread stuffing?" Emily asked, tired of being left behind.

"No, I think she really was talking about the stuffing, Mom."

"Why would there be a movie about _cornbread stuffing?_" Richard asked his wife, finding her question _very odd._

"Well, _I don't know!_ They were talking about a movie about darkness and mashed potatoes and Cesar Romero before! How should I know why there would be a movie about cornbread stuffing?"

"What movie?" TJ asked, joining the conversation after a prolonged period of contemplation. No one bothered to answer him. Sookie began to talk enthusiastically about her jalapeno cornbread, and what wonderful stuffing it could make "_and then serve it with ham!_"

Christopher turned to address his older daughter. "So…how's he been holding up?" Rory was swirling a pattern in her mashed potatoes, and failed to realize that she was being spoken to. "Ror?" he prompted. Jess' head snapped up. Why couldn't he stand that? He was her dad. He could call her anything he wanted. Rory looked up at her father, eyes slowly leaving her mashed potatoes.

"Hmm?"

"I said, how's he been holding up?"

"He? Oh…" she ascertained that they were returning to the topic of her husband.

"You know…with the…" Chris gestured vaguely, the saddened look in his eye explaining the rest.

"Um…" she sighed, toying with her mashed potatoes again. "You know…as well as…" she trailed off, not exactly knowing how to answer his question at first. Then she knew. She looked up into Christopher's eyes. "He could use some milk and cookies."

_**A/N: I was almost tempted to have Christopher make a comment about "grown-up milk and cookies," but then the chapter would have been longer…and possibly included a fight with Luke…too tired to handle all that. Please, please review. I'm loving you guys for all the encouragement and "Story Alert" adds. Feedback makes the world go round! :D**_


	6. Addendum, Grownup Milk and Cookies

_**A/N: Okay, so perhaps this should have been part of the last chapter…particularly since there was some confusion over the "milk and cookies." Hopefully this will clear things up. **_

"_I said, how's he been holding up?"_

"_He? Oh…" she ascertained that they were returning to the topic of her husband._

"_You know…with the…" Chris gestured vaguely, the saddened look in his eye explaining the rest._

"_Um…" she sighed, toying with her mashed potatoes again. "You know…as well as…" she trailed off, not exactly knowing how to answer his question at first. Then she knew. She looked up into Christopher's eyes. "He could use some milk and cookies."_

Chris' head hung suddenly and he looked at his plate in silent sympathy.

"Milk and cookies?" Emily questioned. "Is _that_ from a movie?"

"No, mom." Lorelai did not elaborate, and Emily tightened her lips and looked away. Not only was she being left behind, she was _deliberately_ being left behind.

A sad half-laugh-half-smile escaped Christopher, and he looked up at Lorelai. "You should send him over a bottle of tequila." Luke's face darkened like a waiting storm cloud and Lorelai cringed. Rory's brows knitted in confusion for a moment. _Why would mom send over a bottle of-? Oh, right. _She made a valiant attempt not to roll her eyes, or snort scoffingly. Emily didn't bother to ask whether "tequila" was a reference to a movie. Nobody was paying attention to her anyway.

"_Chris,_" Lorelai objected quietly. They both knew that nobody could _make_ allusions to the past like that if this whole divorced-parents-of-an-adult-share-the-grandkids thing was going to keep working.

Christopher's jaw tightened. "I just get what the guy's going through."

Rory raised her head, but didn't look up from her plate. "Yeah…he was never close to his dad. But, it's still hard, you know."

Christopher sunk into himself a little. Lorelai's eyes went from Rory to Christopher, then over to her father. She got very quiet. Jess looked over at Rory, a contemplative sympathy in his eyes. He hadn't heard about her father-in-law. It gave him a little empathy in a direction he wasn't used to feeling. Had to be rough. His gaze darted involuntarily over to Liz and quickly back to the plate in front of him, thoughts drifting to Jimmy. Losing a parent you weren't close to on any level, had to be…well…confusing.

Lorelai looked up hesitantly, a sad smile for her daughter on her lips. "We'll send him some turkey…and everything else. A slice of each and every pie Sookie made. That's gotta be better than tequila!" Lorelai's smile brightened hopefully at the last few words, her voice suddenly cheerful, even if it was forced. To say that Sookie had outdone herself would be like saying that Joan Rivers _really_ had plastic surgery this time, but, let's just say, there were _a lot_ of pies.

"Definitely better than tequila!" Rory agreed with a nodding smile.

_**A/N: Don't worry. This isn't all I've written. The next chapter is more than half-written. Initially this was part of it, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like part of the last chapter…so, I made it an addendum instead. Hope you enjoyed. Love to hear what you think. **__**J**_


	7. Ex Marks the Spot

_**A/N: Okay…very long chapter. Well, at least compared to others in THIS story. I think it's my favorite so far, though…other than the first chapter. That one just felt special, somehow. But I like this one. Hope you will too.**_

"It just isn't right!" Christopher objected in a hiss to Lorelai as she doled out plates of pie to the remaining guests.

"She's an adult, Chris," she reminded him, starting to become annoyed at his attitude about this whole thing. She walked back to the kitchen for more pie, Christopher matching her step for step.

"Yeah, well - she needs to start acting like one." Lorelai spun on her heel to face him, glaring. Unbelievable. She shook her head and walked away. She couldn't do this. This was _so_ not a conversation they were having. This was _so_ not a conversation Christopher should be having with anyone present _in a million years._ She continued handing out pie. "Her husband is out there, working his butt off to keep her living in the style to which she has become accustomed, going through probably the most terrible time of his life, and she's sitting out there chatting it up with her ex-boyfriend!"

"What part of 'she's an adult' don't you get? She's grown up. She's married. She has kids. You don't get to play the dad card!"

"Oh, come on, Lor…"

"No, Chris. She has to make her own choices. And, I don't know, but it seems to me she's made some pretty good ones! Probably better than both of her parents! So, all in all, I think you need to shut it."

"I just don't want to see her get hurt."

"Of course, neither of us wants that. But, Chris, Honey - what is it you think she's gonna do? What is it you're so upset about?"

"She is being stupid."

"She is _not_ being stupid."

"_She should NOT be SITTING OUT THERE with HER EX!"_ he bellowed, his finger pointed vehemently at the screen door. His voice was louder than he'd meant it to be, and the silence rang hollowly in its wake. Lorelai's face soured and Luke suddenly stepped toward Christopher with a jaw of granite and a murderous look in his eye. Chris turned his face to the wall, hardening in lines of regret.

Sookie looked over at her husband with a stilted chipperness, responding to the awkward shift in room temperature. "O-kay, Hun, I think we should pack it up. Get the kids, uh…yeah." Jackson nodded silently with an attempt at a smile that fell flat, and began gathering the accoutrements of parenting.

Sookie and Jackson bundled things together, and Luke turned and stalked off to parts unknown. Christopher hung his head partially. "Well, I really messed that one up," he murmured softly.

Lorelai sighed and spoke just above a whisper. "Yeah…you did."

Rory sighed. The serenity was broken. The dusk was turning dark. The crickets were just crickets. The companionable quiet of the porch had been invaded by her father's harsh edict. Jess shifted slightly in his seat. The boards beneath him creaked with the subtle movement.

"Well…that would be our cue," he sighed.

"Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry he, uh…" she trailed off. Jess shrugged.

"May be right." His eyebrows conceded the point, much as the rest of him didn't want to.

"Maybe." Neither made a move to go. "Well, then…" Rory twisted her hands in her lap and kept her eyes on them, trying to find something in the darkness to hang onto. There was nothing. She sighed abruptly and stood, preparing to go inside.

"Rory." His voice reclaimed her. She turned to him. He hesitated. "There's a lot here that's fixed," his eyes drew a path between them, "that used to be broken." His voice was soft…requesting… "Don't let…" His words seemed to get stuck. She waited, holding her breath. "Please," he asked softly. He drew his courage and said the next part quickly. "Please don't act like they're broken again, just to make somebody else happy." He'd forgotten at this point not to let her gaze meet his. But, he really wasn't asking for any more than… any more than it was right to have. He just couldn't go back to… to the emptiness. To the shattered, broken, fractured… It hurt too much and he just couldn't bear the thought of going back to that place.

A soft smile found her lips. A soft voice emanated from them. "Nothing's broken, Jess. Nothing will ever be broken again."

His head dipped forward. His eyes wandered around the floor of the porch. His mouth didn't smile, didn't frown, didn't form any expression that was definable, but it toyed with several emotions trying to hide themselves on his face. Eventually he nodded very lightly for several seconds and then tilted his head toward the house.

Just as the crowd had dissipated from the living room not long before, there was a sudden, unexplainable influx from all directions. Sookie and Jackson, having retrieved their three children, in varying states of wakefulness, were making their way down the stairs. Liz and April followed behind them, deep in conversation about gemstones and jewelry making. TJ, Doula and Luke and Lorelai's kids came in from the backyard, having gotten wind of the fact that dessert was being served.

Jess and Rory slunk in the front door, grateful for the coincidental mass entrance, as it lessened the awkwardness of appearing so promptly after Christopher's outburst. Jess noted that Christopher's words had really gotten to Luke, as he was busily clearing away half-finished and not-yet-touched pieces of pie, some of which were not-yet-melted "a la mode." This added to the general confusion, as no one was finished with dessert, and several had come in for the specific purpose of having some of the contents of the plates that were rapidly disappearing. If Sookie hadn't been preoccupied with the task of leaving, she would have been outraged at how much of her pie was making its way swiftly into the trash.

"Uh, Luke," Jess began, his uncle halting in his path of destruction. "I'm gonna turn in early. It's been a long day." He hiked his thumb toward the door, as if pointing to the general direction of the diner and their former mutual residence. "Key still in the same place?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay, thanks. I'll…see you in the morning." Luke nodded in reply. "Thanks for everything, Lorelai," he nodded. He almost hugged her, but somehow with Christopher standing there, it would have been strange. She smiled, ready to bid him goodnight, but Rory interrupted the intention.

"I'd better get going too," the younger Lorelai said, to her mother's shocked disappointment. Her dad was staring at the far corner of the room, looking about as guilty as he felt for ruining the evening for all but Liz, TJ, their kids, and April. Well, technically the Gilmores had left shortly after dinner, as Richard had an early plane to catch in the morning, so technically their evening hadn't been ruined either. "I've got a long drive ahead of me," Rory explained.

"You're leaving tonight!" Lorelai objected, having thought she had the prospect of her daughter and grandchildren over the course of a long weekend. She had plans. Things for them to do. She didn't bother trying to hide her discouragement.

"I know. I'm sorry, Mom. I should have told you earlier. But, I've _really_ got to get back. I _wish _I could stay." Her voice was full of regret. Lorelai's pouting lip and heaving sigh wasn't making it easier.

"I just… The boys are still asleep. I won't even get to give them a real goodbye. I…" She sighed again. "If you really have to go, I understand. I just-" She shrugged. "You have to come visit _really, really soon._"

"I will."

"And bring your husband."

"I'll try."

"Come on, we'll have a whole movie night dedicated to cheering him up: Life is Beautiful, Cheaper by the Dozen, followed by the Lion King with Mufasa in the clouds, 'cause Simba really fits! And then Spiderman - Harry, not Peter, because Peter would be Jess, but the Green Goblin, eh?" She nodded, smiling and then mimed being stabbed by whatever sort of strange flying thing the villain had accidentally wound up killing himself with.

"_Mom!_" Rory shrieked, horrified.

"Oh, and Batman Begins! Can't forget that. The element of revenge is-"

"_You're sick, and twisted, and cruel and horrible!_"

Lorelai grinned. "Well, I try," she shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Now, let's go get that boy his pie before Luke throws it all away."

"Here, I'll…help you with that," Jess volunteered somewhat awkwardly, discerning from his body language that Christopher wanted to speak to his daughter, and knowing that his own presence or Lorelai's could make that exchange volatile.

"Um - O-kay," Lorelai stumbled, clearly taken aback by his sudden eagerness to be useful… in…packing food…for Rory's husband. She shook her head rapidly to get the thoughts to settle into place.

"And, by the way, remind me never to let you cheer me up. I might wind up slitting my wrists…or hanging myself," Jess told her with a wry smile.

"And, that would be a bad thing because…?"

"Because you love me _sooooo much, Auntie_ Lorelai," he said cruelly using her least favorite form of address.

"_Ugh_… You know, I think I liked you better back when I hated you," Lorelai mused.

"Hmm," he nodded, eyes and eyebrows expressing appreciation for the observation as the two made their way into the kitchen.

Lorelai may not have realized why Jess was playing escort/helper, but Rory knew too well that though his speech was nearly always blunt, Jess had a knack for diplomacy in the things he _did_. So, she was not at all surprised when her father stepped forward as soon as they'd left the room.

"Rory…"

"Dad."

He shuffled and _ummed_ a bit before getting to the point. "I'm really sorry for… I didn't mean to embarrass you like that. I mean, God knows, after all the times my parents made me wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole, I _swore_ I'd never do that to my kids. I just-" He broke off with a troubled, hurt look in his eyes, and set to his lips that Rory couldn't be mad at. She knew her dad meant well.

"It's okay, Dad," she assured him. "You've always been the cool, doesn't-embarrass-me-in-front-of-my-friends type father that every girl _wishes_ her dad was. I mean…you drive a motorcycle!"

"In other words, I was never around long enough to embarrass you growing up, so it's no big deal if I do it a couple of times now," he said quietly.

"No, Dad," she sighed. He gave her a stare that challenged her to tell him the truth. "Okay, maybe. But, either way, you don't have to feel bad. I don't want you to feel bad."

"I was a lousy father, and I can't _fix_ that by being a hypocritical butt-in-ski now," he sighed, in a rare moment of self-awareness and raw honesty. "I may hate what you're doing with your life, but that doesn't give me any right to tell you how to live it."

"What I'm _doing with my life?_" Rory objected, frowning. She knew her dad meant well, but this…this she could be mad at. "I don't know what you're talking about! I mean, I _know_ what you're talking about! I _heard_ what you said, but it's _ridiculous!_ I was sitting, catching up with an old friend, having a nice _friend_ly conversation. And, yes, we _do_ have a weird history, but name _one _person in this house tonight who _doesn't!_" She saw him considering. "No…the kids don't count."

"I wasn't…"

"Well, you could have."

"When was the last time I told you you're exactly like your mother?"

"_I_ take that as a compliment!" she huffed.

"I didn't mean it otherwise." They both stood there for a moment, letting the conversation sink in. "Okay…you're right, Rory. It was… It wasn't a fair thing to say, or…to think of you. I just want you to be careful, all right?"

"I _am_ careful," she told him.

"You may think I'm just being a hypocrite, but I'm really not. It's a mistake I've made. It's a mistake your mom made. I just don't want to see you make the same mistake. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Rory sighed and looked at the ground. "I know, Dad. It's a mistake I've made before," she admitted quietly but deliberately. "It's a lesson I've already learned. Not one that I'm going to repeat." Christopher let out a quick, deep sigh. "And, I know you've never thought much of Jess, but you don't really know him. If you did, you'd know that it's not a mistake he'd let me make with him, even if I wanted to." Christopher raised his eyebrows a bit at this. "Just saying," she explained.

"And, I know that my husband is hurting," she continued, "and I know that he needs me, and I know that you identify with what he's going through. I know all of this."

Christopher set his jaw and nodded. "Okay, then." Beat. "I was wrong. Forgive me."

"It's okay, Dad. I…" She paused. "I understand."

Jess had kept one eye on the living room and had rather skillfully kept Lorelai occupied as long as he could see that Rory and her dad continued deep in conversation. Lorelai was wrapping tin foil onto the last plate.

"So, are they done?" she asked, eyebrows raised, though she didn't take her eyes from the foil. He smirked. "What, you don't think I'm that slow, do you?" She glared at him. Jess bit his lip and chuckled.

"Yeah, they're done," was his only reply. Lorelai returned the half smile, and the two of them, more uncannily alike that either would admit to in several lifetimes, made their way companionably back to the main part of the house.

"We come bearing gifts!" Lorelai announced brightly, as if the plates were unexpected. Rory laughed. She'd spent the few moments that Jess and Lorelai had been picking up and carrying plates gathering her various belongings. Christopher had gone to find Gigi and head for his mother's place, where they were to stay the rest of the weekend.

"Thanks, mom," Rory smiled.

Jess nodded to Rory. "Why don't you give me your keys. You and your mom can go get the kids. I'll load this stuff up for you."

"Jess, you don't have to do that!" she objected. Jess rolled his eyes and put out his hand, mutely rejecting her objection. She shook her head and handed him her car keys. "Thank you," she shrugged, knowing there was no way of talking him out of it. Jess said his goodbyes to Luke, Liz, TJ and Doula while Lorelai and Rory went up the stairs. Lorelai took her time kissing the sleeping bundles of sweetness, and snuggled baby Chase on her way down the stairs, Rory behind her, lugging Trevor's not-as-light-as-he-used-to-be dead weight. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, all that was left to load into the car was the kids and the diaper bag.

"Which is heavier, kids or bag?" Jess asked.

"Kids, but-" Before she could even finish the sentence, Jess had somehow managed to put one child on each shoulder, looking at Lorelai and nodding toward the doorknob.

Lorelai smiled a soft, curious smile, wondering how on earth Jess Mariano looked so perfectly natural and at home holding two sleeping children. She would have stood, quite content to enjoy the unexpected tableau, if she hadn't been obliged to open the door.

She stood in the doorway, watching as the two young adults negotiated the walkway and cooperated to get the little ones into the car without waking them any more than necessary. She had a hard time understanding the feeling that came over her…serene with what was…curious at what might have been…sorry…sorry this was so unimaginable back when…back when it had the possibility of becoming real. She shivered. Strange thoughts. Strange, strange thoughts. She turned and went back in the house, putting such thoughts into the mental attic where they belonged.

"So, that's it." Everything was in the car, and there was really nothing left but for him to walk to the diner, get the key from above the door and go up to the old apartment, for her to drive away and keep driving until she got home.

"That's it," she agreed, nodding. "I probably won't see you till next year," she said in sad surprise, the realization coming upon her suddenly.

"Yeah, prob'ly not," he acknowledged with resignation. "It's been…" he trailed off.

"Really good."

"Yeah." He looked at the ground. "I hope everything…" he shrugged, none of his sentences feeling like completing themselves. As if, somehow, unfinished sentences would mean the evening wasn't finished. That he wouldn't really have to wait so long to see her again. He wished that he could pretend that really didn't matter. He couldn't think of any good reason that it should. But, that had never made any difference.

Rory nodded in understanding. "It will."

He nodded again. "It's too bad he couldn't…" This time he nodded vaguely toward the passenger's side of the car. The gesture didn't make much sense, since normally her husband would've occupied the driver's seat, just per habit, but his meaning was still clear.

"I'll tell him you missed him," she said, eyes twinkling, knowing this wasn't exactly what he meant.

Jess eyes laughed back. "Yeah, you _do_ that." Somehow, they both knew that was her cue to get in the car. She was halfway inside when a sense of unexplainable, urgent foreboding overtook Jess.

"Rory!" His voice sounded panicked, and she looked up abruptly, questioning, but not speaking. He looked around awkwardly, realizing he had no idea what he intended to say. But, he had to say _something!_

"If…" He looked at her imploringly, willing her to understand what he couldn't say. _If you need me…if something's wrong…if you ever…if you can't…if you're in trouble…or need help…or a friend…or anything…anything at all… _

He couldn't say any of it.

"I know, Jess," she assured him. "I know."

_**A/N: Remember: In a relationship - any relationship - it's important to let the other person know that you appreciate them so you don't create barriers that delay any hope for reciprocation. ;-D**_

_**Which is just the ultra-Literati way of expressing: If you let me know you like it, and what about it you like, I'm likely to get the next chapter/s up faster. :D Love you guys!**_


	8. Where Are the Pitchforks?

_**A/N: Okay, this was REALLY hard for me to write. I've never tried my hand at it before, and getting it right was a struggle…hopefully, getting it right, that is. I need lots of reassurance…or lots of criticism. I'm not quite sure which. Leave that up to you.**_

Fields and towns and city lights flashed by in the darkness. Rory tried not to think. Thinking was much too dangerous. She had to drive, focus on driving, listen to the mind-numbing air-talk of radio commentators, think about the issues they brought up, formulate responses. Refute. Debate. Protest. If she stopped and thought, she weakened, and she could not afford to be weak. If she kept her mind focused on these separate things, these things that could not touch her, she could keep her mind strong, her resolve firm, her hands firmly on the wheel, her heart firmly on the two wonderful little boys in the back seat, and their father.

By the time she pulled through the large wrought iron gates, she was bone weary and wanted anything but to go inside. Her eyelids drooped as she contemplated what it would cost to hire someone to turn her car into one big, comfortable bed. There had to be a way to do it. It would be better if it were a convertible. Then she and the boys could sleep under the stars. She could show them the big dipper, and Orion, and, um…she yawned…and…what was the swan one? Cygnus. _Can't forget Cygnus._ She yawned again and tried to remember what she was trying to remember and why she was trying to remember it. _Oh, constellations, right. Why am I thinking about constellations? I need to be thinking about getting the boys to bed._ Her thought process seemed to peter out there, and she stood there on the stone walkway just outside the car, looking in at her sleeping children in the back seat…blinking with burning eyes. _Inside,_ she reminded herself, _must go inside._

Her muscles screamed at her as she wielded the child-carrier on one arm and hefted Trevor with the other. _I was so not built for this_, she thought, stumbling slightly on the walkway. _My _shoes_ were so not built for this. Must get mommy-shoes. Don't like mommy-shoes. Mustn't drop sleeping children because of stupid, pretty non-mommy-shoes._

When she reached the door, she set down the child-carrier and fumbled for her keys. Trevor groaned in his sleep at the jostling and the jingling. She laughed at herself - a tired, non-laugh at her non-functioning brain. If she pushed the bell, the maid would come, and then she wouldn't have to call the maid to go bring in the bags when she got inside. _Logic, Gilmore, try logic._ Her sleep stupefied brain didn't even register the use of her maiden name. She hadn't been Gilmore in seven years. _But, _even her husband sometimes still used the old nickname, so it wasn't _too_ much of a mental faux pas. She rang the doorbell.

"Can you please get the bags out of the car and bring them into the house? The luggage can go up to the bedroom, and the food to the kitchen." Elsie bobbed a curtsy and went to fetch the bags. The maid thing was still relatively new, and despite years of Friday night dinners, and living in the pool house, and her room in the Gilmore mansion…she still couldn't get used to it.

She could hear the large flat screen on in the den, and pondered a moment whether to ask for help. Heels. Stairs. _Take off the heels. True, that would be intelligent._ Still, stairs. Heavy children. She was still debating when she heard the television flick off and her husband's bare footsteps slap against the hardwood and then the entryway's marble. He came to a stop a few feet in front of her, hands in pockets.

Despite his slightly disheveled been-home-all-day-watching-the-game appearance, he stood straight, and looked keen, polished. It was a contradiction in terms, but it was still the truth. His appearance and bearing were like a sip of fine wine that was smooth as butter, or Turkish coffee that was strong, rich, but without even the hint of a bitter edge. She'd seen that in him the day they met, and that was one thing that never changed.

He glanced up the stairs and back at his wife, at the sleeping child on her shoulder, at Chase asleep in the child carrier at her feet. He held out his hands toward Trevor's sleeping form.

"I'll take him, Ace," he said softly. Rory gave a small, grateful smile, and shifted Trevor's weight from her shoulder to his. She headed up the stairs with the child carrier, and Logan followed with the sleeping four-year-old. Together, they got the little boys into their pajamas without waking them completely. Settled them in the bed and the crib, respectively. It took no words. They walked silently down the stairs.

Rory walked to the kitchen. He followed. It was a large kitchen, full of stonework and tile, dark, rich woods and granite countertops, a large island in the center with a wrought iron rack for pots and pans hanging over it. The whole thing was very Tuscan. Rory went straight to the cupboard where the coffee cups were kept. She pulled out an electric kettle and a small AeroPress espresso maker. Logan seemed to be waiting for her to break the silence. She had no intention of doing so. Finally, he pulled over one of the barstools and sat down by the island while she made her coffee.

"So, where are the pitchforks? The torches?" he asked sarcastically as the maid brought in the last of the bags. His voice was gravelly, as if unused for several hours and needing sleep. He cast a disparaging glance across the white plastic bags that were now littering up the previously clear island. "What is all this trash anyway?"

She looked at him sharply, her mouth set in a grim line. "It's your care package," she said quietly.

"My what?" He frowned in confusion.

"Your care package," she repeated. "Everybody asked about you. Grandpa wanted to know all about your 'business trip,' and Dad asked how you were holding up. He wanted to make sure I was the dutiful, caring wife, making sure you're all right considering all you're going through. Mom sent you a portion of all the food, including a piece of each of the fourteen pies." She waved her hand at the bags, indicating the feast they contained. "Even Jess said he was sorry you couldn't make it."

He laughed a dry laugh and looked over at the burnished copper stove. "Oh, so he _was_ able to make it after all," Logan spoke in a voice that said he wasn't surprised. "And, yeah…I'll _bet_ he was…" He smiled a smile that crinkled his eyes even as it failed to light them. "Everybody _knows_ just how much _Jess loves me._"

"_Logan_." Her tone was a soft warning.

"Oh, right. Sorry. That subject is forbidden. Well, it was very considerate of Lorelai to send me a care package. I would have thought that'd come from Sookie, but…I guess that much food coming from your mom means even more. Surprised she didn't send pop-tarts and Mallomars. And your dad's concern and your grandpa's interest… Well, it would have been nicer to see them in person, but it's good to know I was missed."

"It wasn't my idea for you to stay here," she reminded him quietly.

"Of course it wasn't. It was all my idea." Rory didn't know how Logan managed to make completely sarcastic remarks without a trace of sarcasm tainting his voice. He played it straight, and still, you couldn't help but know exactly what he was saying. Rory's sarcasm, on the other hand, sounded like sarcasm.

"Right, because I _wanted_ to lie to my entire family about where my husband was, and _why_ he _wasn't there_." She choked on the words a little.

"No, I'm sure you'd rather tell them the truth." Deadpan sarcasm continues. "Then you could keep playing the martyr." He paused. "And, I'm sure I'd be conveniently out of the way in no time."

"You. Decided. To stay," Rory said in clipped determination.

"Yeah, well, when you let me know what a warm welcome I'd receive, I just naturally wanted to hop in the car and go!" This time, at least his sarcasm sounded like sarcasm.

"I'm going to bed, Logan. It's late. I'm tired. At this point, I can't even figure out what we're arguing about."

"You can't? I can. We're arguing about who's to blame, and since that's obviously me, there's not much point in continuing. But I always did have a hard time letting things go. Always up for a good debate. Don't tell me you're too tired for a pointless argument. After all, it's what we do best, Ace."

"I'm tired, Logan. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed," she reiterated.

"Giving up just like that, huh? You do know that means you lose by default."

"I don't care," she said hollowly.

"You don't care that you're taking all the blame? You're just gonna leave me to the company of my vermouth?" There was a certain acidity to the last few words.

Rory froze to the spot, her shoulders jolting just twice with silent, internal tears. Her voice was weak, painful, "Come to bed."

"You're the one who wants to go to bed."

"_Please_." The single word was broken, battered.

"Go on. You're tired, remember? I'm not. Don't worry, I'll make sure to pass out right beside you." Despite the denial, he sounded exhausted, beat. He certainly wasn't going to admit that at this point though.

"You said you were going to try." It was a weary protest. Her arms wrapped around herself as if for warmth.

"Yes, but I'm weak. And spoiled, don't forget. I've always gotten my own way, and I've decided that I don't _want_ to try." He threw words back in her face like the slap of a wet dishrag flung against a metal sink, returned, defeated, angry.

Rory looked him sadly in the eye. "I don't have the strength to beg anymore. I'm not giving up. I'm never giving up. But I can't force you. I can't drag you. I… I'm so tired, Logan, I'm just so tired!" Her tears spilled over in utter exhaustion.

"Then go to bed." His eyes were dead. And, in them, she saw no hope of a resurrection.

As she turned to go, the sound of her soft sobbing wore through the fortress walls he was trying to put up, wore through them like dripping water carving its way through stone, relentless, slow, unstoppable. He could never turn a deaf ear to her tears. He couldn't bear them. It didn't prevent him from causing them, but he couldn't stand the actuality of them. The guilt they prompted. He could hear the gentle weeping continue as she moved about their bedroom, changing her clothes, as she went into their bathroom and began to wash the heavy make-up from her face.

He'd poured the liquor into the glass and had it raised to his lips before closing his eyes, shoulders suddenly sagging. The thick glass hit the counter forcefully. He dragged himself to his feet, to plod across the living room, through the bedroom, to open the bathroom door. He couldn't look up at the mirror and look her in the face. He slipped his arms around her waist, the thin, nylon nightgown allowing him to feel the firm softness of her abdomen beneath his fingers, her ribs quaking with the crying she still tried to stifle, teardrops escaping from beneath lids closed tight, slipping down her cheeks, her neck… He bowed his head slowly and his forehead rested on the back of her neck, nesting in her hair.

"I missed you," he whispered. "I was afraid you weren't coming back." She didn't answer him. "I've been sitting here all day, hating myself. I haven't touched a drop. I've been sitting around miserable _all day_…and I haven't touched a drop. I'm trying, Rory. I _am_ trying."

The arms that braced herself up on the marble countertop slowly released their grip and she turned around in his embrace to face him. This motion caused his forehead to pull her long, sleek, layered hair around onto her shoulder, caused the folds of her nightgown to twist and strain between his fingertips. She reached and took his chin in her hand, raising it up, propping his brow up against her own.

"That's all I ask, Logan. That's all I've ever asked," she wept in return. She felt him stiffen in self reproach, his brow crinkling even as he gritted his teeth.

"Stop being so good to me…" he moaned, agonized. "The guilt is gonna…" He stopped, shaking his head against her own. "Stop it. Stop forgiving me. You've got to _stop_," he begged, even as he hugged her tighter. "Please, Rory…" He slid suddenly down to his knees, arms still tightly around her, burying his face in her waist, "oh god, please don't ever let me go!"

_**A/N: I'm trying to write this in a way that's fair to Logan. I'm trying to keep him in character, despite a plot that will likely make most Rogans/Sophies want to boil me in oil. Hope I've been at least marginally successful.**_


	9. A Day at the Races

_**A/N: Originally, this chapter was the prologue to this story. It answers a large portion of the question: How on earth did we get HERE? in broad strokes and brief outline. Somewhat fluff, somewhat filler, a large dose of Kirk Gleason, and not nearly enough Jess. I promise we'll see him a lot more in the next chapter. Though, since he's Jess, he doesn't say much, and since he's extraordinarily angry, much of the little he says "ain't fit to print." So…it may be a short chapter. LOL. But, that's neither here nor there, since that's NEXT chapter, and this is THIS chapter. So, I'll stop babbling and let you read.**_

As soon as Rory set off on the campaign trail, the pool had begun. Kirk had started it, having recently co-starred in the Stars Hollow production of "The Quiet Man" in the role of Michaleen Oge Flynn, a marriage broker by trade, a bookie by aptitude, a man with _a terrible thirst._ Kirk, naturally threw himself in to the role with the degree of dedication Kirk gave to all tasks - 100%. Method acting - just as he had taken on the role of Jesus Christ for the Festival of Living Art, and had miraculously pulled the event off without a hitch, though he'd wound up nearly killing the town troubadour, Kirk set out to _become_ Michaleen Oge Flynn - driving through Stars Hollow in a horse and cart, hat perched atop his head, always stopping at Shakey's for a bit of refreshment on the way home. Although his mother insisted that he order only O'Doul's. He could _act_ drunk all he wanted, but drinking something that was actually alcoholic was against mother's rules, and though he might not actually be grounded for it, he was certain she would at least take away his legos, his Sega Genesis, and his Star Wars action figures…Jabba the Hut was the best one. So, Kirk confined his method acting to driving the cart around town, drinking O'Doul's and laying odds about the love lives of Stars Hollow residents and former residents.

After everything was finally settled between Lorelai and Luke, and Miss Patty's most recent suitor chased him down the street with a pitchfork so he would quit stalking them, that really only left Rory, as far as those who people considered a really high-stakes bet. After all, it was widely considered inevitable that in her travels around the country, she would either be swept off her feet by one of her fellow reporters on the bus, or one of her old flames along the trail. After all, she _was_ traveling to each of the 48 contiguous United States.

Other than her fellow reporters, Jess Mariano was considered the favorite, a term of which the young man himself would have savored the full irony had he been aware of the fact. There were those who insisted that Dean Forester ought to hold that position, considering they had dated three times, and Rory tended to be a creature of habit. Others claimed that Logan Huntzberger ought to have been the favorite, having already proposed once. Those who preferred to bet on a truly dark horse went for either Tristan Dugray or Marty. Stars Hollow literally left no stone unturned, and there were even those who, through what source they would not reveal, knew that Rory had kissed Tristan the day after breaking up with Dean. This, it was said, gave him slightly better odds than Marty. And yet, each of the times the campaign stopped for an event in Philadelphia - the presidential candidate seemed to have a positive affinity for the city - more money was placed on the nephew of Luke Danes.

Luke and Lorelai were probably the only members of Stars Hollow who did not, openly or secretly, have money riding on Rory Gilmore's romantic future.

In the end, East Side Tillie, Bootsy, Michel, TJ and Rune made a killing, and the rest would argue for the next decade or so over whether they should have. Rory finally got her avocado tree - and a job at the Los Angeles Times. Emily and Shira got their big church wedding in Hartford, complete with 20 huge ice sculptures, a 38 piece orchestra, a wedding cake that towered almost as high as the banquet hall ceiling, and nearly 950 guests. Lorelai gave Rory the bachelorette party to end all bachelorette parties, and the former members of The Life and Death Brigade reconvened for what was determined was their Ultimate Life and Death Brigade Event (although, technically they were no longer members), making Finn's original assessment correct, that the parachuting adventure that had nearly taken Logan's life was indeed their penultimate event, and the hangovers which resulted ought to have been somehow measured and recorded and submitted to Guiness - the book of world records, that is, not the brewing company.

Richard Gilmore had the honor of escorting the bride down the aisle, true to Emily's "diplomatic" suggestion to avoid conflict between Rory's father and step-father. Naturally, Lorelai was her matron of honor, and her bridesmaids, as expected, were Lane, Paris and Honor. Standing with Logan (although it was no small miracle that they could do so) were Colin, Finn, Robert and Tristan Dugray. There were those among the citizens of Stars Hollow who thought that this fact should have brought them the profit of a successful wager. After all, he _was in her wedding_. Kirk, in office as official Michaleen - backed up by Taylor, who did not stand to make a profit, as his money had ridden on Dean) ruled that being the cousin of the groom - Mitchum's sister's son, and a member of the wedding party was not close enough to either the spirit or the letter of the wager to entitle those residents to a share of the winnings.

Christopher sat next to Emily Gilmore, and his mother Francine, who had Gigi by her side - immensely happy for his daughter, and trying not to let it kill him that he wasn't the one leading her down the aisle, or the one who had escorted Lorelai there.

Luke sat with April, admiring the loveliness of the girl before him, remembering all her endearing little girl ways, complete with caterpillar's funerals, fairy rings, tutus and leotards, the neon pink, huge camera she used to flash in peoples faces at completely random moments, the time she'd undertaken to interview every citizen of Stars Hollow in preparing for her journalistic future. Then his mind drifted to another wedding-the one he'd always imagined she'd have. One in which he'd never been sure whether he'd be leading her down the aisle, or standing at the groom's elbow. Luke certainly wouldn't cheapen the prospects for Rory's future with a wager, but he'd always had his hopes.

Jess had been invited to the wedding - after all, he was technically family now - but had politely RSVPed that he would be unable to attend.

Marty had likewise declined, though Rory was really the only one who noticed his absence...well, other than a relieved Lucy.

The ceremony was flawless, the reception, spectacular. Of course, all professionals knew that when dealing with the Gilmores _and_ the Huntzbergers, if things had been anything less than flawless and spectacular, heads would have rolled. There were long, witty speeches, lovely dances and the cake was _to die for._

At the end of the evening, they rolled away in Logan's new Porsche, which was decorated in a way that Emily Gilmore deemed _undignified_, and began the first leg of their honeymoon - a European/Asian tour, which also made a stop to see the Sydney Opera House and gave them a few days on a pristine, magnificently apportioned, but uninhabited island. It was glorious!

When they returned, they began the business of settling into the house with the avocado tree, and the business of Logan's more than moderately successful new business venture, and the business of the Los Angeles Times. The honeymoon was anything but over. It had just begun.

Rory and Logan had just celebrated their second anniversary with a long overdue trip to Connecticut when Rory found out that she was pregnant with Trevor. Luke and Lorelai managed to schedule an entire month's visit around her due date to be certain not to miss the arrival of their first grandchild. Trevor Augustus Huntzberger was born 8 pounds, 14 ounces, with a soft fuzz of white-blond hair. He was declared the most perfectly beautiful child ever to be born… until, of course, two-and-a-half years later, when his brother, Chase Grandon Huntzberger appeared on the scene, and they had to concede…it was a tie.

_**A/N: Okay…I just wrote about Logan and Rory in cotton-candy sweetness. I think I'm having a reaction. I may have to use my epi-pen. A trip to the emergency room may be required.**_

_**Whimpering softly…really, people…without more reviews, I may not have the strength to slog through the necessary evil and get to the good parts!**_


	10. Retrospection Interrupted

_**A/N: Okay, you're really gonna hate me for this one. Just warning you. Please leave me nice reviews anyway! Or screaming hateful reviews because "HOW DARE I LEAVE IT LIKE THAT!" and "WHAT THE FLIBBITY IS GOING ON?" It's all good. Please let me know what you think though. And, hopefully something that will give me a little more insight into your thought process than "What the flibbity is going on?"**_

Jess really didn't spend much time in Truncheon anymore. Either of them. They'd expanded with the original branch in Philly and another in Hartford, which, initially, Jess was supposed to run. It was as likely a spot as any, and would allow him to be a little closer to family. Not _too _close, mind you, because Jess Mariano required a buffer between himself and his mother every bit as much as Lorelai Gilmore ever needed with hers…actually more so…sometimes. Okay, so actually, he hadn't needed one that desperately for a long time. Once upon a time, New York to Stars Hollow was barely enough. Later, he required the entire country…_yeah._ _But_…life had other plans with that one. These days, the barrier was a little more for TJ. He didn't usually have a desire to kill Liz. The same could not be said for his "step-father." _Shudder._

Anyway, Jess didn't really end up running the Hartford store so much as using it as his office, bouncing back and forth between there and Stars Hollow. He was writing more than he was running things. It worked out to be more profitable that way. And, much as he hated to admit it, Stars Hollow was an excellent source of inspiration. Unexpectedly enough, Doula in particular wound up sparking a lot of his ideas. He'd bounce things off her, and her unique perspective would lend a flavor that he couldn't get anywhere else. _Who'd have thought?_

It was good to stick fairly close to Luke, too. And, he'd even admit it. He'd even take whole days sometimes and work at the diner. Not exactly for old times' sake. More when he knew his uncle could use the help, or when he could really use the company. Much as he lived in his books, and much as he was happy to live on his own, as opposed to with roommates, etc., though he'd never say it out loud, it got lonesome. And, though Luke probably talked less than anybody Jess knew, he made far better company.

The fact that the first time he'd been there with his uncle was under heavy coercion, and every time since, he'd come voluntarily (with the exception of the incident involving his car…_and, _technically, his mom's wedding), he considered one of the little jokes life likes to play. Much of what Jess wrote ended up being about life's little jokes.

On this particular day, though, Jess wasn't in Stars Hollow. Nor was he in Hartford. The original Truncheon was due for a large-scale inventory, and Chris and Matthew had submerged a distress radiobeacon…okay, so it was a phone call.

In any event, this particular day found Jess Mariano in Philadelphia. Except for Matt and Chris, nobody in particular knew that he was in Philadelphia. That was one of the things Jess liked about living alone. Not that he had a tendency to keep people apprised of his whereabouts anyway, but living alone meant that nobody had the right to get mad at him for not letting them know where he was going to be. And, today, it was good to be in Philadelphia.

Strange.

All growing up, he felt as if he'd never had a home. Now. Now, when he lived by himself, rapidly becoming a stodgy old bachelor/hermit, with his books and his music and his writing, and his propensity for holing himself up in his books and his music and his writing… He actually felt like he had several homes. He was at home when he was here in Philadelphia, particularly here in Trunceheon Books. He was at home in Hartford, in his house. Jess Mariano had a house. Owned. A house. He shook his head. He felt at home in Luke's Diner, as well as in the apartment above it. He felt at home in Luke and Lorelai's house, oddly enough. _And_, he felt at home on the streets of New York…some of them, anyway. On the subways and in the parks. On a lot of the roofs. There were even a couple of spots back in California that he could have thought about as home, if he stretched his imagination a little bit.

These were the things that Jess was thinking about as he went about the mindless work of inventorying Truncheon's stock. Matt and Chris bickered about this and that, turned the music up, turned the music down, changed the records half a dozen times. Jess listened, kept his eyes on the books, and smiled.

Then, the corded business line rang. Chris picked up the handset, glanced at it and called out to Jess. _Nobody'd be calling me here._ Chris tipped his head upward and tossed him the phone, underhand. He caught it, with a strange frown, glanced momentarily at the caller ID, _Huh! _and tapped a button on the phone before putting it to his ear.

"Hey, Luke!" he answered brightly. "I know. My cell's busted. Gettin' it fixed and for some bizarre reason they couldn't get me a loaner till - _Sorry! Sheesh!_" he exclaimed as if he'd just gotten bawled out, though there was hardly time for that to have happened, unless they were talking over each other. In another half-second Jess stopped, stock still, as if the world had suddenly gone into slow motion. "What?" Chris and Matthew froze, watching him. It was almost impossible not to.

"_Don't_ leave me hanging like that! _Why?_" His eyes closed for a moment, as if repressing something. When they opened, he began to shake his head back and forth in angry, silent denial…refusal…something he clearly could not accept. The next second, he bashed his fist down onto the counter with such force it was a wonder his fingers weren't broken, and a sharp expletive burst from his lips. Matt and Chris jumped simultaneously at the abrupt simultaneous sound, and exchanged weird glances.

_He didn't just call his uncle that, did he?_

_Uh, no. That was somebody else, and just for the record, somebody whose shoes I wouldn't be in for a very LARGE sum of money right now!_

The three former roommates had transformed ocular communication into an art form. They could convey, literally, anything.

_Ten to one it's about _her_, somehow._

_Are you kidding? That'd just be a waste of a dollar._

_You think I'm just talking a ten-spot?_

_No matter what the amount, I'm not a sucker!_

Jess' tone went from the previous shouting snarl, to something unnervingly quiet with the very next sentence. "When she got there, did she…? Was she…?" Unnervingly quiet, and painfully worried.

_See, told you!_

_You told ME? I was the one that - never mind, you never listen anyway._

Jess breathed a sigh of relief and nodded at the phone for a second before his expression changed to that of black fury, and an astounding string of savagely angry foul language erupted from him. To the point that his co-workers each took a step backward and were quite relieved there were no customers milling about. He resumed his attack on the innocent desk, this time nearly breaking his foot…repeatedly. "_Do NOT tell me that!"_

_Whoa._

"_Of course! _What do _you _think! In fact, if you _don't, I will!_…That's right!…Oh, I can only imagine! Oh, yeah…"

_Dude! Nouns! Preferably proper ones. Verbs! Dying here!_

At this point, Jess got maddeningly quiet, just listening for a long time, nodding occasionally, adding the incidental _mm-hm…yeah, _or _yup…huh-uh, _and every once in awhile, a deep sigh usually accompanied by a pained look and an exhausted shake of the head. After some time, they observed that there was actually silence on both ends of the line - not whispers, not exchanged grunts, but actual silence, as if both men were completely at a loss. After several long seconds of this, Jess breathed a short sigh and croaked, "Luke…what can I do?" Whatever the answer was made him bow his head, then lift it and nod, as if he recognized the answer as a natural one. Finally, just, "Okay." Another silence. "Yeah. I will." And he hung up the phone.

No matter how much the other two men were dying to know what life-altering events had just taken place, they knew better than to ask at this point. And, they quickly busied themselves, so they had an excuse to look elsewhere while they watched him in their peripheral vision. He looked like he'd been shot through. No…not quite that bad. Punched in the gut? No…worse. Something…something with a lot of pain. He smeared the heel of his hand near the outer corner of his eye, brought his fist to his mouth a couple of times, silently resumed his work, stretched his hand with a grimace…limped.

_**A/N: *cringe* let the fireworks begin…**_


	11. Welcome to the Family

_**A/N: Thank you to luvtheheaven for allowing me to so heavily borrow from her story concept in the 'home' paragraph of the previous chapter. You should go check out her new story "A Place Called Home," and review begging her for an update…okay, so that's a little selfish. I'm really anxious to read Chapter 2. ;-)**_

_**Oh, and, I created a title page/splash screen for this story that you can find on my profile page. I'm a little proud of it, so please take a look. All right. I've procrastinated as long as I can… particularly since procrastinating when you've left everyone dangling off the edge of a cliff isn't particularly nice. So. On to the next chapter.**_

_**Don't hate me too much.**_

"Welcome to the family, Son!" He'd said it twice. Once, in jest, and once in earnest. He was one of the few people Logan had ever truly respected. That was because, for the most part, he had always treated Logan with respect. It was mutual. He didn't treat him like a peer. That would have been inappropriate. But he treated him like someone with a future, someone who was going places, making something of himself. He treated him the way he always wished his father could have. Like he believed in him. That was why this message hurt so much.

Logan Huntzberger was sitting on a marble floor. It was cold. It was hard. So was the reality that had just come slamming into his face with such force that he couldn't help but believe it was the reason for the pounding in his skull. That was why he was sitting on the floor, listening, or at least half-listening to the voice of Richard Gilmore on the answering machine.

He'd awoken at 2:17. From the brightness of the room that caused him to close his eyes again, wincing, he deduced that must be p.m. His head was too thick with pain to deduce much of anything else. When he'd gotten his bleary eyes to accept daylight, he started working toward muscle coordination and some way to get rid of the dry horridness in his mouth that tasted like something had died in there. _Criminy! Ev-ery-thing hurts!_ It wouldn't be so bad if he could put together in his head what day it was. And _where_ everybody was. The whole house was _dead quiet_. Rory and the boys must've gone somewhere. There was no way that there was a four-year-old and a two-year-old in a house that quiet. Logan stumbled around looking for Rory's note. She never left without leaving a note. But, he didn't see one in any of the usual places._ Oh, my head…I think I'm gonna puke…_

"Come on, Rory…where'd you put it?" he mumbled aloud. And there was a beeping coming from somewhere. What on earth was that beeping? It sounded like something with a battery going dead, demanding to be recharged. Perfect thing for a hangover. He vaguely stopped looking for the note and started searching for the source of the beeping. Everything seemed jumbled somehow. Like there'd been a party there the night before. Maybe there had been. He tried to remember something of the previous night… He shrugged, brow rumpled. Nothing came. But, things sure were a mess.

He cursed at the floor as his bare foot found a shard of glass. _Glass? Oh, come on! With toddlers in the house, nobody cleaned that up! _Whoever their guests had been, they sure knew how to tear things up! And where were the cleaning staff? This was ridiculous! And, what was making that _stupid beeping?_

At last, he tracked down the annoying noise…_right. Answering machine. Somebody called on the landline? How quaint._ Must he really listen to somebody's voice with his head already about to split apart? Then again, maybe Rory had left this instead of a note, counting on the annoying beeping to get his attention. She'd been annoyed enough with him lately that maybe she found the idea of him stumbling around, tortured by a hidden, squawking machine, entertaining. He laughed a tired, strained laugh at the thought, and pushed the flashing button.

"_Logan!" _Richard's voice barked the name like a command, and Logan's eyes snapped startlingly open. "I have some very specific instructions for you, and I suggest you follow them _to the letter_. You will need to gather a goodly amount of _boxes_. And, into those boxes, you will put each and every item belonging to your wife and your children, and you will place them _in your garage_, where Rory's car used to be parked."

_WHAT?_

Logan was on his feet in an instant, tearing up the stairs and into the bedroom…the boys' rooms. There was every evidence of someone packing in a hurry. _But, WHY?_ His mind formed only one coherent thought, over and over again. _Rory wouldn't leave. Rory would never leave. She wouldn't. Rory WOULD NOT LEAVE! _God knows he'd given her enough reasons to go, but that was why he _knew_ she wouldn't just take off like that! No matter what happened! He froze. _No. _

_God, no._

_I didn't! _

_I couldn't have._

_Please._

He sat down heavily on his son's bed, hearing his wife's voice in his mind. She was yelling. She had every reason to yell. It was a moment he recalled with crystal clarity. "You _know_ that I will be here _with you…for you_, no matter _what!_ That I am _willing _to help you through this, Logan. I _want _to help you through this! And you know that _I will accept_ the risks to myself…_the_ _costs to myself._ But, _the moment_ that you start hurting our children, Logan, I will be _gone_, _WE will be_ _gone, so fast it'll make your head spin! And, don't even BOTHER to ask me to come back!_"

He leaned heavily on his elbow, bracing himself on the miniature dresser, and covered his eyes with one hand, as if it could shield him from what he'd become. Turning, folding himself onto the too-small bed, he wept into his little boy's pillow. He mumbled incoherent sobs of apology into the pillowcase. He soaked the thing, but it granted him no redemption.

All at once, he felt stone-cold sober. His footfalls landed like beats of a snare-drum on the staircase. He leaned against the wall beside the abominable answering machine, agony and disgust chiseling themselves into the lines of his face. Slowly, he let himself slide down the wall until he sat on the floor…stared at the floor, eyes shifting in and out of focus, staring at the gray veins in the marble. Morbidly, he wondered if that was the color of human veins once they had been drained of blood. For the fifty-millionth time, his mind drifted to his father's opulent home office. To the epitome of the cliché that Mitchum Huntzberger had become. The fat cat who had finally alienated each and every individual on earth who had ever had a shred of regard for him, and in the end, closed himself in his private office, opened the drawer of his ornate desk, and summarily put a bullet into his brain. But, this was the first time he began to wonder if maybe he had the right idea.

He listened to the message four times. He had to. Most of it wasn't sinking in. Somewhere near the end, he advised Logan to speak to his lawyers…he was pushing Rory to pursue criminal charges. He nodded, more out of strained disbelief than understanding. The third time through, he registered the day and time the boxes were to be picked up, and that he was "encouraged" to be absent.

"…because among those who will be coming to _assist_, are individuals who would prefer to see you decapitated. Or perhaps disem_boweled_. Or castrated. I, myself, am not quite so vindictive. I'd settle for a simple Roman style _flogging_, provided I could do it my_self_."

Logan flinched at the harsh words, ruefully recalling a conversation some months earlier, when Rory had been getting ready to go to Luke and Lorelai's.

_She'd stood before a mirror, putting her makeup on. She'd really caked on the concealer, but it still showed. At least it was fading. He was tired of apologizing. He was certain she was equally tired of hearing his apologies._

"_Are you sure you don't want to stay?" he'd asked her. "I could say that you're sick."_

"_Or, I could say that _you_ are," she retorted quietly and quickly. His jaw tightened._

"_You know I didn't do it on purpose." She snapped a glare at him. "I _wouldn't. Do it. On purpose_," he insisted. She shook her head and looked back at the mirror, pulling out some iridescent purple shadow, some black, shimmery shadow, and some liquid liner, and two different kinds of mascara._

"_I have no reason to stay here," she told him, ignoring his assertions. "_I _have nothing to hide." His eyebrows questioned this. She held up the eye shadow, looking at him sideways. "This is for _your sake_." He looked at the floor, jaws tightening again. "After all," she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror, "you _do_ know if Luke ever found out about this, he'd hang you from the nearest tree after flaying all the skin off your body? And that's is nothing compared to what Mom would do."_

"_Fine, I won't go," he stated, as if this solved something._

"_I _didn't _say that," she protested._

"_No. _I_ did. I'd like to keep my skin, thanks. And everything else. I think I'd better just kick back and watch the game. I'm less likely to be the victim of homicide if I stay here, don't you think?"_

"Logan_…what am I supposed to tell everyone? What possible explanation could I give?"_

"_Well…I _was_ asked to represent the Huntzberger Corporation in Louisiana this weekend, since the take-over is complete, but I begged off, pleading family obligation and sent Josh in my place. You leave off that last detail, and I have a valid excuse," he stated logically._

"_So, you want me to _lie_ to them," she replied, with a dulled edge of bitterness._

"_No. I want you to be _selective _in _which pieces of the truth _to reveal. I think you _understand_ the concept," he told her earnestly._

"_What's that supposed to mean?" she countered in quick suspicion._

"_Nothing! It's supposed to mean exactly what I _said_." He shook his head. "You can tell them the pieces of the truth that _they need to know. _You tell them that I was asked to go on a business trip. That I send my love to the family, and I wish I could be there. All of that is _true. _What's up with the defensiveness?"_

"_Nothing." She stood silently, masterfully applying powders and liquids to the surface of her skin until the lavender discoloration blended flawlessly into a look that was actually very beautiful. An awful ache tightened in Logan's chest. This wasn't a skill Rory Gilmore…Rory Huntzberger…was supposed to acquire. He closed his eyes and turned away from the scene. "Oh, and, by the way," Rory hastened to add before he disappeared to some other part of the house, "Jess won't be able to make it after all." There was a sad irony to her voice. "Some delay involving a bus and a washed out bridge made him miss the flight he was supposed to take out of Seattle. He won't be able to get another one until Saturday night. Just _thought you should know_." Her voice cracked, just a little. And he knew. The maddening thing, was that he still didn't _remember_…but that little crack in her voice…the resentment with which she brought the subject up…the involuntary twist in his stomach when she said the name. He hated himself for it, but he knew. _

_He'd done it on purpose._

The answering machine clicked, signaling the end of the message. He pushed the button again. By the end of the message, he was on his feet. They carried him to the mini bar. For once, he didn't bother with a glass. He twisted the lid savagely, and threw back the bottle so it could flood his throat, flood his senses, numb the screaming pain that was tearing red through his brain and before his eyes. After the first swig, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and a whistling breath seeped through his teeth. He drew the same hand across his eyes. He raised the bottle again to his lips, every muscle in his body tightening into steel bands. He _had to remember!_ But, _…oh…how he wanted to forget!_

_**A/N: I wanted to tell this chapter from inside Logan's head. That's why it took a bit longer than previous chapters. At this point in this story, Logan's head isn't a very nice place to be. So, no matter how much you hated the chapter, please leave me a review, so I can count the time in this torture chamber as somewhat worthwhile. Also, honestly, I've never tackled writing about alcoholism before, and I don't know if I'm portraying it well or not. So, any relevant insight or assistance you could give me would be much appreciated. Thank you.**_


	12. Burglar

_Very, very early that morning…_

"Luke…" she whispered, cautiously. No answer. "Luke, wake up!" This whisper was accompanied by a repeated staccato jab to what she thought was his shoulder.

"_Oww-w!_ What _is it_, Lorelai?" he asked in a voice that he was both irritated and startled by being thus awakened.

"I heard a car."

"You woke me up because _a car drove by?_" his voice was quiet and full of half-asleep gravel, which made his sarcasm doubly evident. Lorelai gave a quick sigh. She was still whispering.

"No…I did not wake you up because a car _drove by_…I woke you up because a car _pulled up and somebody got out!"_ At that moment, they both heard the rhythm of a timid knocking. "_See! Get up, Luke!"_ Her whisper had become urgent. He turned to scowl at her in the darkness. "_It could be a burglar!"_

"You want me to get up because there could be a _burglar knocking at our door?" _He stared at her in the moonlit darkness that wove eerie patterns of lace on her skin. She sighed heavily into a pout.

"_Mean_ husband!" she grumbled, though still whispering, as she pushed aside her portion of the comforter and sheets. He gave her a look that asked _What?_ though she thought the answer should be obvious. "Make me sound _stupid!_ _And_ make me go down and face the burglar _myself!" _He rolled his eyes, already knowing that he would inevitably wind up downstairs within the next ten minutes, no matter what he said or did. "We need to keep a baseball bat by the bed," Lorelai whispered as she pulled on her robe.

"So you can bash Sookie in the head when she comes knocking on our door in the middle of the night?" he asked tiredly, laying his head back on the pillow. The knock came again, louder this time.

"You think it's Sookie?"

"Why do you think I'm still laying here?" he asked, voice drifting into a soft sleeplike state. "Sookie or Lane… Whoever it is…" yawn, "they'd wanna talk to you…and want me to go away. _Trust me_, you don't _need_ a baseball bat." Lorelai frowned at his logic, preparing to go downstairs.

Nervously, Lorelai crept down the stairs, and for the first time she really, really hated the domed frosted-glassed windows in the doors…not that she hated that they were frosted. She really didn't want whoever was standing out there to be able to look inside, but why, why couldn't they have gone with a peep-hole? They remodeled practically everything else. Why did she insist that she liked her doors? All she could see through the frosted glass was a _really fuzzy_ silhouette of somebody on the porch. At least the somebody didn't look big. Luke was right. She didn't need a baseball bat. She could probably take them out with an umbrella. Biting her lips, she glanced at the stand near the door, and the umbrella…well…standing there. She really didn't want to open the door to Sookie or Lane, wielding an umbrella like a madwoman.

The someone chose this moment to knock again, and Lorelai jumped out of her skin. She stood there, staring for a moment - cringing, and hoping that 'someone' hadn't heard her freaking out. She held her arms stiffly at her sides, but willed herself to reach out and twist the knob.

"_Rory!_" She was stunned…still half-whispering, but stunned. Her beautiful daughter stood there with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering slightly in the night air, her thin, short sleeved blouse clearly not sufficient. She wore a thin frozen smile to match. Her eyes weren't smiling. "Rory… what… what are you… Come in!"

Rory opened her mouth as if to speak, but her throat remained voiceless. She turned her wide-open eyes back to her car, which clearly contained the explanation for her unmoving feet. She couldn't come in…the boys were in the car.

_Why was she here in the middle of the night? Why were the boys in the car? _Somehow, Lorelai couldn't ask anything. Rory, smiling, frightened Rory, couldn't tell her anything. Lorelai watched her…standing there…eyes filled with something…smiling on the edge of…_what?_ She looked as if she were about to fall…and it was a long way down. Face full of _let me help_, Lorelai reached out a hand, as if to catch her.

Rory's face kept it's frozen smile. If she lost the smile, everything would fall apart.

They heard Luke's footsteps heavy and fast on the stairs. Usually, he would hesitate a half-step behind Lorelai. Usually, he would falter, unsure of himself, unsure what to do. He didn't hesitate. He stepped firmly, urgently past Lorelai and put a strong hand on Rory's shoulder.

"_Rory! What happened?_" He almost shouted the words, but there was a strong, warmth behind them…the sturdy warmth of _Luke_. The ice cracked. She plummeted from the precipice. She flung herself into his embrace, crumbling in his arms like a fragile autumn leaf, sobbing and weak. The crying that squeezed itself from her lungs was first jolting and silent, then suddenly, raw and eerie. He held her close, held her up so she wouldn't fall, cradled her head to his chest with a poignant look of worry-love at its most intense. _His little girl._

In a moment his watery, helpless eyes sought Lorelai's. The eyes that met his were ice blue, wounded and terrified. She looked at the shattered creature in Luke's arms…and if he felt helpless, she felt exponentially so. She had the awful, aching feeling, that whatever was broken, this time she couldn't fix it.

_**A/N: Again, very hard to write. I hate seeing our Rory like this. Please, your words help me continue.**_


	13. Reassurance

_**A/N: I've been told I should write longer chapters. I tried, I failed pretty miserably, but I tried. For some reason, this story just doesn't lend itself to them. I've also been told that I should warn people when they really ought to keep the Kleenex/hanky handy. Consider yourself warned. I've also been told that I tend too much toward writing the over-dramatic. Um…guilty as charged. Thank you SO, SO, SO, SO SO MUCH to Melethril, StarLight, DeepFriedCake, oana07, luvtheheaven, watram, Kassandra27, MiguelCC51, Kaz010, NancyLouFan, Frankincense Pontipee, and Jeremy Shane for your very faithful, wonderful reviews, and to those of you (you KNOW who you are) who give me such amazing, amazing feedback and insight and allow me to spit-ball ideas at you, in the form of reviews and PMs, emails and IMs, you guys ROCK! I couldn't do this without you! And, thank you to luvtheheaven for telling me that the last chapter just wasn't finished. Here's the rest of it. ;-)**_

It's amazing what can be communicated without words. The tiny flick of the eyes, the inclination of the head, the meaningful shrug of a shoulder, the expressions in eyebrows and mouth, etc. Luke had held and quieted and steadied and comforted his girl. There was a point, though, that he knew she needed her mom…and, even more, her mom needed to be needed. And so, the subtle dialogue of body language began, and he told Lorelai to take her, bring her into the house, start the coffee, make her comfortable…he'd get the boys from the car and put them to bed.

Lorelai took her all-grown-up-little-girl, and with the cooing voice and sympathetic eyes, softly protruding lip, and quick, soft, rubbing of her arms and back that always soothed her best, she gently ushered her into the house. Doing her utmost to put her worries aside, she went into full Lorelai mode, mentally planning out the comfiest jammies to put her in, the most comforting junk food to feed her, the most distracting movies to watch.

Luke set about detaching the child carrier from the car so he could carry two-year-old Chase up the stairs and deposit him in safety and warmth, cuddled in blankets. He saw, with a smile, that Rory already had him dressed in his pajamas. Then, he came back down the stairs, across the porch and returned to the back seat of Rory's car. He started in to release Trevor from the complex rigging that held him fast, frowning in confusion at what seemed to be mittens on such a warm night…mittens…or…well, they weren't gloves. The smell of alcohol emanated sharply from the boy's clothes. Luke's frown deepened. As he fumbled with the buckles and straps, Trevor began to stir in the shadows with a noise of distress at finding himself in a place he did not immediately recognize, with no _Mama_ in sight. Despite the darkness, he soon discovered who it was that was releasing him, and his distress turned to a sleepy sort of excitement, as Luke pulled him from the car and set him on sleepily unsteady feet.

"Grandpa!" his voice piped, clear and cheerful - but at that moment, moonlight splayed its fingers across his face, and Luke saw what had been hidden in the shadows. To say that it shook him would be a vast understatement. Luke had to turn abruptly away so little Trevor wouldn't see the look of horror on his face, though he couldn't disguise the excruciating gasp that came from his lips. The little boy's lower lip was swollen on one side, and looked as if it had bled not long ago. There was a purplish knot forming just below his right eyebrow. Light bruising mottled his fair complexion, covering…most of his face. The _mittens_…were bandages. Luke took this in with great pain, tilting the boy's chin upward to the moonlight so he could see more clearly. He felt as if whatever was holding his heart together was coming unraveled. His little boy couldn't be hurt like this! The pain squeezed his heart, tighter, tighter. His head slowly lowered, and his eyes shut hard, his lips turning to stone to keep the groan within.

"Grandpa?" The little voice sounded worried then. Luke deliberately relaxed his features. He realized that a moment ago, the boy had sounded happy…miraculous as it was. Shouldn't he try to preserve that? No matter what he was feeling? There was no room for agony or fury. Not here.

"Hey, kiddo," he said. It was stilted, but as lighthearted as he could fake in the present circumstance. The child's features turned placid again. "You, Mom and Chase decided to come for a visit, huh?" Trevor's smile returned, and he nodded his head excitedly.

"Yup," his still-sleepy voice agreed. Luke faked a smile and nodded to the little boy.

"It's late at night and you were sleeping. Why don't we take you up to Mikey's room and you can sleep with him in his bed?" At the reminder of his newly-awakened state, Trevor yawned and declared that he wasn't sleepy anymore. Luke shrugged. "The sun hasn't even woken up yet," he told him, "and I'm goin' to sleep as soon as I can get my sleepy ole' carcass to bed." Trevor laughed as his grandpa illustrated his sleepiness with a shuffling stumble of a walk. "You wanna walk, or would you rather I carried you?"

"I can walk," he insisted, but after a few steps, Trevor started shuffling and stumbling himself, and it was no act. He made no objection when Luke reached down and gently picked him up, mindful that he might have hurts in places that didn't show, and carried him upstairs to his own youngest child's room.

By the time Luke had tucked him in next to the sleeping boyness that was Mikey, Trevor's eyes began to flutter and drift. The soft skin of his eyelids was paper-thin and translucent, his eyelashes, curling and perfect. Drifting to sleep, he looked so very little, so very fragile… Luke smoothed the downy locks of yellow hair away from his forehead, and a drop of brine slid its way slowly down the ruggedness of Luke's face, slipping unseen through his thick whiskers. Another followed. His chest quaked. He turned on a dim light near the bed. He had to check. He had to know it all. He pulled and rolled and slid the little boy's pajamas this way and that until he'd checked over every inch of precious skin. There were bandages on his knees too. But, aside from this and his hands, he seemed unhurt from the neck down. Luke released a sigh. From the condition of Trevor's face, he'd expected much worse. He clicked off the light. By muted moonlight, he ran his fingers again through the silken gold hair. Luke tipped his head slightly to one side, and looked at Trevor keenly as he did so. Carefully, he placed a kiss on the boy's forehead, and slowly, he pulled himself away.

Afterward, he went quietly into his daughters' room, where he'd fashioned a bed for Chase. He cringed as his foot caught on something and made a noise loud enough that Kate woke up, though Ingrid only stirred slightly, and little Chase only twitched a fraction of a second in his sleep.

"Dad?" Kate inquired sleepily, propping herself up on one arm, sleep-mussed waves of light brown hair tumbling into her eyes. Her free hand brushed it away.

"_Shh-h!"_ Her dad held a finger to his lips to prevent the awakening of the other two children. Though still in sleep-fog, he could see the puzzled curiosity in the girl's face as she looked down at the sleeping bundle of little boy halfway across the room.

"Is that Chase?" she whispered, confused. Luke nodded, carefully crossing the room to sit on the edge of his second-oldest daughter's bed. His hand came to rest on her shoulder and rubbed back and forth in a motion intended to settle nerves and bring her closer to reclaiming the sleep he'd inadvertently disturbed.

"Rory and the boys are visiting for a little while," he told her in a whisper, and halted her with a raised finger and an _ah!_ when her mouth opened to inquire further. "Questions in the morning. Go back to sleep." As he said these words, Luke pinned her in place with his eyes, took her by the shoulders with a gentle firmness, and helped her to lay back down against the hypnotic softness of her pillow.

"But, Dad, what if…" the illogical fraction of a question melted in the air. Kate's lovely hazel eyes closed a mere trace of a second after she was under the pillow's spell, and only a moment later, her jaw went slack and hung open, emitting slow, regular breaths. Luke smiled involuntarily. In an instant, his face became serious again. He tucked the blankets back around the sleeping beauty with an extra tenderness. _How could…?_ He wouldn't let himself finish the thought.

Again, he switched on a dim bedside lamp that would allow him to see little Chase clearly. He examined him closely, careful not to wake the precious tyke. To Luke's immense relief, the velvet smoothness and pale perfection of his just-past-babyhood skin was perfectly intact…unbroken…unblemished…unhurt. _Thank God! _His head bowed, and his hand patted the little boy's stomach, as if in reassurance. In that moment, it dawned on him that was what both of his grandchildren were bound to need more than anything else…reassurance.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

Luke had kept his own counsel in front of the kids. He'd been patient, and kept everything in check, gave them the safety and smiles that they needed to get through this. But the questions were eating him alive!

"What happened to Trevor?" Luke demanded from the bottom of the stairs, not waiting to see whether Rory could handle a question like this. It was too much. It was too urgent. He needed to know.

Lorelai's eyes snapped up at the question with an anxious, "What do you mean?" before Rory could even respond.

"His face is _all over bruises_, his _hands_ and _knees_ are all _bandaged up_, and he _reeks_ of alcohol! What _happened to him?_" Luke asked in a frantic tone, gesturing to his own face, wrapping panicked air bandages around his own hands, and finishing off with an emphatic motion of anger and disgust, staring Rory in the face. Lorelai turned her eyes to Rory also, and Rory's eyes rested uneasily on the floor as she struggled to come up with a reply.

"He…I think he threw a temper tantrum…" was all she seemed capable of saying, though it did nothing to answer the question.

"You think he-" Luke began quietly, in disbelief, before erupting, "_That's_ what happens when a kid _throws a temper tantrum, Rory? _Are you _kidding me?_" Rory's sobbing resumed at the sharp accusatory tone and Luke felt horrible.

"Why do you think I'm _here_, _Luke?_" she whimpered, her arms fumbling around herself, twisting, writhing. Luke looked downward in self reproach, clamping his lips together for a moment.

"I didn't _mean_ it's your _fault_…I just…Rory, what _happened_ to him? I mean I assume…" he trailed off with a vague gesture that was understood by all in the room to mean he knew the _whom_ in question, just not the _what_ and the _why._

"The bandages were an accident," she explained clumsily, "I mean…the cuts under them. That part wasn't on purpose. Logan was too drunk to realize that you can't make a four-year-old clean up glass…they don't know how. I mean…he pushed him down there to clean it up, but I'm sure he didn't mean for him to land in it." Lorelai and Luke's eyes closed in unison, and Luke's hand twitched in an undefined violent motion. "He broke it, and…and Logan tried to make him clean it up, and he wouldn't…and…I couldn't get to him before he started slapping Trevor in the face…"

"Those were _more_ than slaps!" Luke insisted, motioning to his face again.

"He never closed his fists," she maintained with slightly more vehemence than she wanted to put into the words. "He grabbed him by the hair and yelled at him," she recounted though it cost her obvious pain, "and _really_ hit him…over and over, but he never closed his fists." The look on both Luke and Lorelai's faces made her feel all the more accused. "I'm not _defending him!_ Not at all! I'm just…I'm just telling you what happened. You wanted to know what happened and I'm telling you!…I'm just glad I stopped him before he got his belt all the way off, 'cause he was going for that next!"

"The kid is _FOUR! He's four and he BROKE SOMETHING, and the idiot WHALLOPS him in the FACE, and tries to take a BELT to him?"_ Luke was white-hot with incredulous rage. "_What did he break that was so-? Has THIS HAPPENED BEFORE?_"

"A bottle of scotch," Rory answered the first question, and Luke _hmph_ed as if he should have known. "And, Logan's never hit the kids before, no." Her tone made the rest clear despite herself.

"But he _has _hit you before," Lorelai deduced softly, her agonized statement coming out as the question it was…wishing as hard as she could that she was wrong. Rory looked at the floor. The question answered itself.

There was a long silence.

"Why did Trevor break the bottle of scotch?" Luke asked, not able to bring himself to ask the other questions, any more than Rory could bring herself to answer them. Rory choked a little on her own tears.

"Because he wanted his dad to stop drinking it…because it made me sad." Her shoulders shook and her face contorted, one hand coming up weakly to cover her mouth.

Luke's jaw ground just slightly. "Some temper tantrum," was his only remark - voice husky, eyes misty.

"_It's all my fault!_" Rory moaned in a voice full of tears, her hands rubbing at her arms as if she just couldn't get warm. Luke stepped forward to catch her, but Lorelai was closer. She wrapped her arms around her daughter's hunched, lurching shoulders, rapidly rubbed the warmth into her arms, as if friction would keep out the coldness of her pain. Rory closed her lips biting down on them, but the crying couldn't be kept inside anymore…couldn't be hidden…and the sound of it got more terrible the harder she tried to keep it in.

"No…sweetie…it's _not your fault_. _It's not your fault at all!_" Lorelai was unable to prevent a reproachful look at her husband, though she knew full well that he was already reproaching himself…and that it wasn't his fault either.

"_But, he wouldn't - I didn't - I should've - I never meant to…" _At this point her words became entirely incomprehensible and melted into sobbing incoherency.

"_Shhh-h-h…no…no…_" Lorelai wept. She'd tried so hard to be strong, but it was just too much. She couldn't bear to see her perfect daughter so broken…so hurt. She hadn't allowed the full horror of the thing to penetrate her heart, but even the surface…even the barest fraction of the surface…was more than she could take.

Despite the sting from Lorelai's glare, Luke couldn't just stand there. He came forward, feet shuffling, tears choked at the back of his throat, face impassive as stone, yet clearly torn-up inside. His arms encircled both women with a band of iron. He would protect them. _Too late._ He would keep them safe. _Too late. _He would… It was here Luke broke down entirely.

_**A/N: Aaaaaaaah! Why did I ever start writing this? It stinkin' hurts to write! Oh well…I'm obligated now. I'm hooked on this story every bit as much as my wonderful readers tell me they are. Please, please always review. As I've said before, that's what gets me through this…especially the parts that are the most painful to write.**_


	14. You Could Be Happy

_**A/N: I've gotten requests for a Jess chapter. How does two sound? Here's the first one. It's short, but *shrug* I hope you like it. I do.**_

Leaving Philadelphia, he took the interstate, driving by instinct, by memory. His conscious mind couldn't stick to the road. It kept drifting to thoughts that made him want to bash his head in. Radio…good way to drown out the screaming thoughts, right? He flicked the thing on.

"…_another bruise to try and hide, another alibi to write, another lonely highway in the black of night…"_

"You have _GOT to be kidding me!_" he shouted aloud to the dashboard, quickly reaching to change the station. He actually laughed at the painful irony as the next station's DJ rambled inanely about something inconsequential before the next song began. The music was tinkling, like a music box. He tried to place the intro. A feeling in his gut told him that…

"_You could be happy and I won't know. But you weren't happy the day I watched you go…"_

"Seriously? Not any better!" he griped loudly, as if the radio should have known, and was just trying to torture him. Switched stations a second time.

"_Even though we're not together there's a part of me that's never gonna change, that's still burning with the flame, even though it's not the same as it was…It's still love, to me…"_

"Now, you're just…" he trailed off bitterly, reaching for the dial again. "Forget it!" He turned the thing off, debating for a moment whether to switch to one of the audio books he'd loaded onto the crazy electronic thingamajiggy Liz had thought was the "perfect gift" for him. It wasn't the same as holding a book in your hand and putting your own inflections and voices…the ones in your head, the ones that are _supposed_ to be there…into the words. But, he'd been doing a lot of driving lately, and the thoughts in his head were still often a place he didn't want to be. Unfortunately, at the moment, it was a choice between the beginning of _David Copperfield_ and the beginning of _Great Expectations._ So much for that.

Stupid _Snow Patrol _song was stuck in his head._ "And all the things that I wished I had not said. Are played in loops 'till it's madness in my head._"

"_STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!_" he said, smacking his hand against the steering wheel as if that would somehow help matters. It was too true. He couldn't stop playing back that entire evening, and it was driving him completely insane! _Why_ couldn't he _see it? Why? It was stinkin' RIGHT! THERE! IN FRONT! OF MY FACE!_

From the moment he'd looked up and saw her sitting there at the table. He knew something was wrong. He _knew._ Rory didn't _dress_ like that! Rory didn't _wear make-up_ like that! Rory didn't have…that look in her eye! Even if there'd been nothing else - not another sign - that should've been enough. He _knew_ that look. He _stinkin'_ knew that look when he was _six years old!_ And, now Trevor would know that look until his dying day. He shook his head at the sadness of it. The aching, unchangeable, unpreventable sadness. Even if he _had_ known, what could he have done? If she was already hiding behind make-up…already had bruises she had to hide from the world, the damage had already been done. Could he have warned her somehow, before that? He knew the guy was a jerk. He knew it from square one, but… He'd tried to warn her. He'd tried to tell her that. It didn't do any good. He _should have known!_

If he hadn't known from the look on Rory's face, then he _certainly_ should have recognized it in Trevor. The accusing look he'd given him when he saw Rory crying and clutching her eye like that… the way he'd flinched back, as if Jess might hit him. Had he really laughed? Thoughts froze in his mind there, making room for a pain as sharp and throbbing as frostbite. Had he really laughed?

"_You go out there looking like that and somebody's gonna think I hit you." _The words punched him in the gut. Had he really said that to her? How could he possibly, ever, _ever_ joke like that? To anybody? Much less, Rory. Much less… He breathed deeply, trying to dull the pain, trying to…

"_Could you teach me too? 'Cause, seriously, whenever I do it, it looks like somebody punched me in both eyes." _Oh, April! Seriously! Talk about the wrong thing to say! He shook his head, realizing. She hadn't even been able to speak. She couldn't. _She. Couldn't. Say. Anything… Rory… Rory Gilmore. Had been in too much pain to utter a word._ Was it any wonder when she started talking again she tried to distract everybody by babbling about stuffing? Sure, he hadn't fallen for it. He knew something was wrong. Lorelai knew something was wrong. But _they_ didn't know _what,_ and the rest of the room was _completely oblivious!_

Again, it was right from the beginning, though. From the moment he stepped in the door, the signs were there! She didn't want him looking at her. He paid her a compliment, and she knew that he knew something was wrong. So, she made him focus on himself…take a turn… let me look at you… nice jacket… you should let your hair grow… I miss your curls… How was the book tour?…Where's your book?… Let me read it… Let me bury myself in your book, and get lost in it, so I don't have to think about everything that I have to hide. I don't have to think about the pain. I can sit here, and you can sit there, and you there, and we're all reading, we're all the same, I'm just Rory Gilmore who reads books with people who love to read books, I'm not a victim, my husband doesn't drink, and he doesn't beat me, and I don't have bruises buried underneath these layers and layers of makeup, and I'm not trying to distract you with my flashy clothes, don't be ridiculous! Give me that book! I need something to hide behind!

Sitting out there on the porch, had he really thought that because things were finally okay between them, that things were actually _Okay? Oh, Rory!_

And, all that talk at the dinner table about her poor, poor husband! Everything he was _going through…_ Send the poor guy a care package. He deserves everybody's sympathy. _SEND HIM A BOTTLE OF TEQUILA?_ That recollection almost sent him swerving off the road. _Headlights. I need headlights, it's raining. Um, don't you mean, windshield wipers? That kinda comes before the headlights thing. Shut up!_

_And, the pie. I dished up plate after plate after plate of that BLASTED pie to MAKE HIM FEEL BETTER! Did I actually tell her I was SORRY he wasn't able to make it? Okay, so she knew it was just out of courtesy, but still._

_I could have sworn she knew what I meant. It was there in the air. She saw it. She felt it. She KNEW I was telling her that all she had to do was call! ANYTIME about ANYTHING! Why didn't she call? I know. I know she couldn't. She couldn't… But…_

He'd long passed the Hartford exit. He knew where he was going, even if his mind hadn't given him permission to go there. There was simply no other place that he could be right now.

The car door banged shut behind him. He walked up onto the porch, and knocked.

Lorelai came to the door.

"Jess?"

_**A/N: Not much to say, except to repeat my unending request for more, more, more happy, beautiful, exquisite reviews! OH, how I love them!**_


	15. Discussions of Love and Rat Poison

_**A/N: Sadly (and happily), my life is in the process of getting much busier. Never fear, I fully intend to continue all of my stories, add new ones, etc. But, I thought that I should warn you that my updates of "EverFixed Mark" may not be as rapid-fire as they have been thus far. I'll do my best, but it simply may not be possible. Please, stick with me, though. As I've said before, I'm just as hooked on this story as any of you have told me that you are. I didn't know exactly where to take the conversation in this chapter at first - thus the slight posting delay. I really love Jess and Lorelai together, always. It's a little harder to write when they're both understandably out-of-sorts, though. But, I think I like how it came out. Hope you do too. Let me know exactly what you think. :-)**_

He didn't say a word. He looked down at the porch, hands stuffed in his pockets as he swayed and came very close to shuffling his feet. Lorelai glanced into the house behind her, and turned back to him, lowering her voice.

"Jess…you-" she started. Something in his stance, his manner, made her soften, and her words softened with her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but Jess… you really shouldn't be here." She sounded as if she were talking to a small child or a wounded animal, but still with trepidation for the fragile state of the occupants of the house.

"I know," he said quietly, without looking up. This went straight to Lorelai's heart. He knew her little girl was hurting, and he tried, but he couldn't stay away. After another quick glance inside, Lorelai took a step forward and closed the door behind her. Jess stepped back to make room for her in the space in front of the door. She'd been going to hug him as soon as the door was shut. God knows he looked like he needed it! But, somehow, when he shifted, his shoulders slunk inward and his head bowed further, and though he looked more in need of comfort than ever, he also seemed less inclined to accept it.

"Come here," she said quickly, linking her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him off the porch and behind the house. Jess followed completely passively, and without the hesitation, or even the curiousness that normally would have accompanied such an unprecedented maneuver.

They made their way through the fallen leaves, and around bicycles and children's toys to the large oak tree in the far corner of the yard; and once there, Lorelai began to climb the steps Luke had crafted up to a modest, but impressive tree house. She reached the top and looked down at him, standing there as if he really had no idea what she expected him to do. She had no doubts about his cognitive abilities, but in addition to his latent social awkwardness, the young man was obviously in a lot of turmoil. Turmoil fogs the brain.

"Come on," she urged. He glanced at the ground for a moment, as if chagrined that he ought to have known that was what she expected him to do - for he hesitated no further, grasping the handholds and beginning to climb. He was stone-faced and awkward, looking like this was complex work, like he'd never so much as climbed a flight of stairs before in his life. Lorelai acknowledged that she was hyperbolizing a bit about his expression, but comfortable was something it was not. When he made it up the stairs and ducked in through the diminutive doorframe, Lorelai sat down, cross-legged in one corner of the tree house, shifting back and forth until she was almost comfortable on the rough, wooden floorboards. He followed suit, much more deliberately, and with much less shifting. Comfort was not something he was going to achieve in this situation. He raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, _Now what?_

"You're the one who came here," she told him.

"Excuse me?" he frowned, baffled at her way of starting in the middle of things.

"I assumed you had something to say, since you're the one who turned up on my doorstep; but now, you're sitting there just staring at me and I'm beginning to feel just a little stupid for having brought you up here." He looked amused at this.

"You're the one who led me off your porch, through your back yard, and up into a tree house, so I assumed you had a plan of some sort," he responded, one eyebrow raised just slightly higher than the other.

"You looked like you needed to talk."

"Oh." Silence resumed. He nodded, looking around, admiring the unusual craftsmanship of the small 'dwelling,' gave a soft smile; but then his mouth hardened again and he bit his lower lip. "How's Trevor?" His brow furrowed as he asked, and his eyes were fixed on the head of a nail in the floor.

"He'll be okay," Lorelai said quietly. His eyes flicked up, meeting hers fully for the first time since his arrival. His eyebrows raised and lowered quickly, and he looked off to the side. She knew him just well enough to see that he checked whatever words could have come out of his mouth at such a moment.

"Good," he said tersely, slowly nodding again. His jaw tightened and his eyes found the nail again. "Rory?" His face was deliberately passive…or at least, it was trying to be. Lorelai didn't seem to be able to answer this question. Her lips pressed together, and her head swooped to one side. If he didn't see her eyes, maybe she wouldn't have to show him just how much she was aching. "That good, huh?" he deduced bitterly. Her head dropped. _So much for that. _"I came because-" he began. "Because I needed to see with my own eyes that…" he trailed off, unable to finish after all.

"That they were safe?" she finished for him in inquiry. He nodded. "You still love her." The words were soft, but the reaction they produced were not. Jess flinched and looked her in the eye for a flash of a second, completely startled, almost accusing, and then looked away, out through the doorway and into the yard with an expression that was pain and anger and…wistfulness, regret, betrayal. The appearance of this last emotion in his averted eyes made Lorelai truly wish she could take it back. She hadn't meant to say the words aloud. She didn't know what had prompted her to…just… He seemed so… He was still in love with her. It had been in everything he said and did for all the years that she had known him, but never so much as in that one moment, sitting there in the tree house, needing to see her safe…her children safe. She didn't begrudge him this secret love. She didn't condemn him for his inability to rid himself of these feelings. Lorelai ran her fingers through her hair contemplatively, twisting the ends of it between her fingers. And then she understood. It didn't matter whether she condemned him for it or not. He condemned himself. What an odd contradiction this boy…this man was. If he was sitting there condemning himself for being unable to dispel carefully guarded, concealed feelings of love for another man's wife…he certainly was no longer a boy.

"That doesn't matter," he whispered, though his eyes were still fixed halfway to the ground below, somewhere caught among branches and leaves…perhaps in midair…hanging. Lorelai's gaze shifted with his whisper. She'd been looking mere inches from his face, but her thoughts came back to his presence, rather than his psyche.

"I'd say that it matters a great deal," she said, softly. This rapidly drew his gaze from its suspension to her face, all of his features screaming puzzlement, disbelief, and something akin to repugnance.

"Why should it matter?" his voice had returned also, with the flavor of day old coffee grounds. Lorelai pulled from the gaze and shook her head with a sad, dismissive smile, at his self-righteous indignation. At his assumptions. She drew a breath to reply. Her voice was determined, but still pleasant and quiet.

"Because, right now, she can use all the love and support she can get. That's why you're here, isn't it?" she prompted. He pulled himself in, his expression acknowledging that he'd jumped to conclusions too hastily, even while something in his eyes said that his conclusions hadn't been altogether incorrect simply because she changed tack midstream. He took a deep breath.

"Yeah. It is," he acknowledged with a tip of the head, but froze, looking her directly in the eye again with a piercingness that caused Lorelai to consciously control herself to keep from squirming. "Then, why did you say I shouldn't be here?"

Lorelai felt herself between a rock and a hard place. She knew that she'd been right to prevent Rory from seeing him just then. It would upset her. Though she had a great deal of trouble putting into words, even in her own head, exactly _why_ it would upset her - much less words that would satisfy Jess…that wouldn't be a thorn in his heart, or a burr under his saddle. She sighed.

"Rory's in a very…confusing place right now…a very difficult place. I'm never sure how seeing you is going to affect her. She needs all the friends she can get, and she's going to need all of our support to get through this. I'm just not sure that…" She paused.

"I get it," he murmured, looking almost contrite, though for what, she could not deduce. He placed a hand on the floor and pushed himself up, rising to his feet. She did the same, though afterward she wiggled her left foot around, trying to get the feeling back into it, along with her calf muscle. "I don't _have to…_" He shook his head. "I don't _need_ to see her, I just… I don't know. I needed to be here, and I'm not ever sure why, myself." She smiled with her lower lip stuck out…an understanding smile. "I'll just…uh…go over to diner. I'll go up to the apartment and clear out some of the junk I left there. Get it out of her way. I can't fit all of it in my car, but…at least some of it." He raised one hand in a pleasant shrug. "I can at least make myself useful."

"Yes you can." She conveyed, both with her tone and her demeanor that her statement was not confined to the moving of boxes. A moment later, she grimaced, unable to disguise the discomfort of the pins and needles feeling in her leg and foot. Jess smiled at her, half gratefully half teasingly.

Just then, a look of self-annoyance overcame Jess, and his fist thumped into the wall next to him, as if he'd forgotten something important, and it had just come to him.

"What is it?" Lorelai asked. He shook his head.

"All day, this has been happening!" he uttered, bemoaning the state of affairs.

"What's been happening?"

"I just keep-" He let out a frustrated sigh. "Every couple of minutes I realize _another reason_ that I should've seen this coming! That I should have known it was _happening!_"

"_Oh, Jess,_" she admonished. "_You_ should've known?" He looked up at her, and saw it in her face. He let out a long breath, shaking his head.

"Not alone, huh?" he concluded.

"_Are you kidding?_" she chided. "Rory is my other _self!_ How could I not know she was _in pain?_ How could I possibly not know that someone was hurting her? I talk to her on the phone almost _every day! _When did she stop telling me when things went really wrong? Why didn't I hear it in her voice? _I always KNOW what's wrong! I can usually tell! _When I saw her, how could I have been so _blind? _What kind of a mother am I?"

"The best," he insisted, firmly. She shook her head adamantly, ignoring his statement and just continuing.

"I can't brush my teeth, or look in the mirror, or pick up the phone…much less _look at Rory_ without thinking, 'My God! _Where_ was _my head?_ Why didn't I see this in the way he treated her? How did I _miss_ this _pattern?_ How _long_ has this been _happening? _Why couldn't I have _stopped it?_ Why couldn't I have somehow known three decades ago, and _drowned the rat at birth?'_"

Jess laughed at the last question, though certainly not at the rest. "I presume you're talking about Logan?" he confirmed.

"Are you calling Rory a rat?" she accused.

"_No!_" he insisted, still laughing. "I was just making sure you weren't!"

"Of course not! If Rory were a rodent, she'd be a cute little mousie - the kind with the really soft fur and the the big, round ears," Lorelai demonstrated eagerly, showing the shape and size they'd be to scale on a human. Jess nodded, mock-seriously.

"She would!" he agreed, enjoying the image. Sudden tears blurred Lorelai's eyes, and weakened her lips that suddenly pursed themselves together.

"I wanna kill him," she choked out, trying to blink the tears away. Jess nodded, biting down on his lip and crossing the small space to put an arm around Lorelai's shoulders.

"Then I guess we'd better get some rat poison." There was no hint of humor in his voice, but it made Lorelai half-smile through her tears. She shook her head after a moment's reflection.

"No, poison's much too easy. We've got to find something really painful…very, very _slow,_" she told him with a malicious glint to her eye, and an evil, creepy-crawly inflection that contrasted strangely with the tears still in her voice.

"See what I can come up with," he nodded. Lorelai grinned broadly despite the 'crying face'.

"I'll have to show you my list!" she said with an almost gleeful sparkle in her red-rimmed eyes. He chuckled at her.

"The pros and cons of each option all neatly lined up?" he inquired with eyebrows raised impishly. She gasped and smacked his arm.

"You're mocking my daughter!"

"Never!"

_**A/N: So tempting to actually compose Lorelai's list! It would be so tangential, but I must admit, good morbid fun! If you have ideas for it, feel free to PM me with them. (No detailed gore, please.)**_


	16. For the People Who Are Still Alive

_**A/N: For the complete and unapologetic reason, that I thought it was about time there was a dash of Paris. I've never written Paris before, and…it's kind of a rush! ;-) Short and sweet. …Wait, did I just call a chapter that contains nothing but Logan and Paris, sweet? Okay…uh…short anyway.**_

"Hello?" his voice sounded tired.

"Why isn't your wife answering her cell phone?" she demanded without introduction.

"Paris?" Logan scowled at the phone.

"Yes, Paris. Of course, Paris. Now, if you're done _vying_ for your next Darwin Award with the guy who drowned with his legs out the window and his head in his kitchen sink, would you just give Rory the phone?" the young termagant snapped.

"What?" he asked in pure annoyance.

"Thus, proving my point!"

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't call my phone first thing in the morning and attack me. If you really do have a point-" he complained, but Paris cut him off.

"_Rory!_ I want to talk to _Rory!_" she demanded.

"Then, why don't you call her?"

"Oh, for the love of God!" she exclaimed, as if throwing her hands up in high dungeon.

"It's a perfectly reasonable question!" he insisted, getting more exasperated with her by the second.

"It _would_ be a perfectly reasonable question for a baboon! _Or_ if I hadn't already just answered it. Your wife - is not - answering - her phone. So, would you kindly put her on, please?" Even her requests had the air of a good cop/bad cop interrogation, with her taking the obvious side.

"She's not here!"

"Well, where is she? And why isn't she answering her cell phone? And, don't tell me that she left it behind, or that she forgot to charge it, because you forget that I _know_ Rory. Rory does not forget! Rory-"

"Is not here, and I don't know why she isn't answering her phone, and I _don't_ know where she is. If you really have to know so urgently where she is, and what the state of her cell phone is, then I suggest you ask Lorelai," he told her, not wanting to give up the information that he was entirely ignorant of his wife's whereabouts, but Paris was Paris. She'd get it out of him eventually anyway, so he might as well not fight it.

"Lorelai - right! I should have thought of that to begin with. I must be losing my touch. Lorelai would- Wait!" she halted her own rant, and Logan cringed. "Why would Lorelai know where she is better than you would? Did she finally wise up to your philandering ways and kick you to the curb where you belong? Because if-"

"No."

"Don't tell me you made her leave! Because, if you think that you can get away with defrauding her of her home after dragging her heart all over town, palavering with airheads and prostitutes-"

"I am _not_ a philanderer! I have never once-Why am I telling you this? You call up here and start hurling accusations, without any more than- You know what? I don't have time for this! Rory's not here. I have no idea the location or condition of her cell phone. You'll have to get that information from some other source. Goodbye Paris," he said, closing the phone.

As he did, he could hear her voice emanating from the thing, tiny and furious. "If you think for one second that I'm going to-" He had no illusion that this was the last he'd hear from Paris Gellar. And he knew full well that it was probably the most pleasant conversation they would have from this point on. And, he knew he'd better lock his door at night.

_**A/N: You could probably define this as a throw-away chapter. But, I heard the conversation in my head, so therefore…you get to hear it too.**_


	17. When the Weather's Not So Fair

_**A/N: Okay, for those of you who have been aching for a nice, long chapter *sigh* here is a gift for you. :-) I think I'm more proud of this chapter than any other…and I've been pretty pleased with a few of them, so that's really saying something. Please reward my hard work with detailed reviews! It will light my heart with happiness! Thank you for reading!**_

Zach VanGerbig, Michel Gerard, Luke Danes, Dean Forester, Brian Fuller, Jess Mariano, Jackson and Davy Belleville, Christopher Hayden, Cesar and Gypsy- it was an impressive turnout for the lift-and-carry portion of a moving 'party'.

Of course, there were those who definitely would have been there if they could have. Andrew was laid up with a broken leg. Morey had a bad chest cold, and it was universally agreed that it would be better if he wasn't handling the same boxes that everyone else was handling - which was a blessing in disguise, as he'd pulled something in his back the month before, and really shouldn't have been lifting anything heavy. But, of course, if it hadn't been for the pesky virus, he would have been helping no matter what anyone said. "So stubborn!" his wife lamented.

Privately, Lorelai had spoken to Taylor, asking him for a favor. Naturally, Taylor knew about Rory's arrival in Stars Hollow, and the unfortunate circumstances which surrounded it - "Terrible! Just terrible! But, then again, I always _did_ think that…" - and that she'd been pretty upset about everything - "Well, I should say so!" - and that disruptions were likely to cause her even more agitation - "Mmmm…" - And, well, really, when it came to disruptions, few people were more likely candidates for causing them than TJ and Kirk. Taylor had rolled his eyes in a knowing way at this. So, Lorelai wondered, if perhaps he could find something to keep them occupied on that particular day…some project that would be _very important, of course_, that would require their particular assistance. Taylor nodded his head with a sly look, admiring Lorelai's cunning.

While the men - and Gypsy - were moving boxes and furniture, and Lorelai, Rory…and sometimes Luke, were upstairs directing the movement and unpacking of said boxes and furniture. The rest of the time, Luke was downstairs, directing the men with the boxes and furniture on what order, etc. etc. in which to remove the boxes and furniture from the trucks.

And that day, the thing that Luke had sworn for decades would never transpire…did. Sookie Belleville had full reign of his kitchen. Luke shuddered for the whole diner…the whole block…the whole town, as a matter of fact, because heaven knows she could find a way to blow it off the map using nothing but malt vinegar and toothpicks! Or worse. She could make the toaster stop working again!

Lane, Lulu and Liz were the official den mothers of the day, back in Luke and Lorelai's yard. The swing set and the tree house, along with the huge lawn, with the entire area carefully fenced off, made it a better place for that many children than any other in town. Of course, Babette kept popping out and jabbering over the fence with Liz about all the children's antics, and the state of her vegetable garden, and "_poor, poor Rory!_"

Past the gazebo and the trucks half-full of clothes, and children's toys, and kitchen gadgets, strolled the town troubadour. "_Somebody's gonna drop everything, run out and crank up their car, hit the gas, get there fast - never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far.' They just show on up with their big old heart…"_

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

It was wonderful. Rory kept telling herself this as she watched all of her things make their way through the door marked 'William's Hardware - Private Office,' in the arms of all these men who proved they cared so much about her. She couldn't dwell on that phrase. It struck too many painful contrasts. It was wonderful. They were all being wonderful. It killed her, though. The whole town knew. Everyone knew. All the petty gossips and the _I-told-you-so_ schoolmates of Stars Hollow High. But, worst of all - Jess and Dean. She'd passed them both over for the dazzling adventure and secure height of Logan Huntzberger. _Logan…_ She took a deep, quick breath, trying to pull back the tears that were pricking at her eyes, as she drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms. She certainly couldn't think about missing him at a time like this. It would be absolutely ungrateful. She took another halting breath, focusing on the wonderful people who were here to support her. All these wonderful people who wouldn't look her in the eye…hadn't looked her in the eye since the moment she'd emerged from Luke and Lorelai's house and went for a walk to clear her head. Of course, she'd found herself down by the bridge, half hoping Jess would be sitting there with a book. She'd seen his car in the driveway and watched out the back window as Lorelai mysteriously hid him the tree house. It was one of many things she didn't ask her mother about in the last couple of days. He hadn't been there, though…at the bridge. And, as calm and peaceful as it always was, and as much solace as it usually granted her, she found out quickly that today, it wasn't a place she wanted to be…at least, not alone. She'd walked through town, arms crossed against the breeze, a sleeveless, yellow summer dress caught by that same breeze, but perfect for the sunshine day, and a walk through the Hollow. Whenever someone passed, or she passed them, she'd attempted to give them a cheerful smile. It was work, but she managed to locate one and decoupage in onto her face. She'd even managed a bit of sunlight in her lately overcast eyes; but no one would meet them. She'd thought she would duck away from them…hide. She'd always been the one to fear public scorn, and shrink from the world seeing her sorrow. Now, when she put on a brave face and marched out to meet the world and all of its preconceptions, it shrank from her. That should have been empowering. Instead… She looked around the bustling room and blinked back tears again. Someone was asking her where to put a lamp. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to tell them just where they could put that lamp right now. They were being wonderful.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

It had been surreal eating Sookie's food, sitting at the counter in Luke's Diner. She tried to wrap her head around the fact that Luke's Diner was her house now. _But that's just temporary._ Unbidden, she heard Logan's voice continue the thought seamlessly. _Have a drink._ She almost spat out her coffee. _Temporary can turn into forever._ - _Shut up! This is _not_ the pool house! This is completely different!_ She wasn't clear on whether she was telling Logan or an alternate self, but she could see Logan smirking at her triumphantly. She was angry with herself! Where did that _come from? _Logan hadn't tried to reduce her to this. He'd been a wonderful husband. He'd been supportive and kind and loving, and…just because it all fell apart in the end didn't make this whole thing some bizarre master plan to wreck her life and turn all her plans to 'temporariness.' _He had a lot to drink. He's tired from travelling. This isn't him. I swear. - This isn't about him. Okay, screw him. What's going on with you? This isn't you, Rory! You know it isn't.- SHUT UP!_

The whole room went dead quiet. It was only then that Rory realized that the last two words had been out loud…out _very loud_, and that there were tears streaming down her face. Everything was a blur. All the eyes that wouldn't meet hers were suddenly staring. Her ears began to ring. She stumbled to her feet and fled up the diner stairs to her new temporary home.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

When Lorelai came up the stairs she was sitting on one of the mattresses, choking on sobs and hyperventilating. She was of two minds as to whether she wanted her mom to be there right then. There were so many things that she just couldn't say. But, Lorelai, being Lorelai, knew this. She sat down on the bed beside her, put an arm around her shoulders, handed her a Kleenex and set her coffee down on a nearby box.

After a couple of minutes Rory felt it all babbling out.

"I feel like such a failure, and everybody's _staring_ at me, but they won't _l-look at me!_ I feel like some sort of a _freak!_ And my life-what's happened to my life? I'm-I'm…I have two kids, and I'm living in an apartment above my step-dad's diner? _That's not me!_ And-" she gasped a sob inward. "I tell myself that it's all temp-temporary, but that's just making excuses! And, I can't go back to work! And I'm _stuck_ here! And, _how can I complain?_ Everybody's doing _everything_ for me! Just like they always do! I'm the stinkin' _t-town princess_ just like he always I was, but I've fallen down! They put me up-up on the p-p-pedestal, but it was too high, and I just…..I just…" At the last, she slid down with her head in her mother's lap, as her mom stroked her hair and shoulders and cooed words she couldn't quite hear. The jean-clad thighs were less than comfortable, and the few Kleenexes Lorelai had managed to grab were anything but enough for the waterfalls of her eyes and the faucet of her nose. She started to cough, and choke, unable to breathe, and so pulled herself up to stumble to the bathroom for some toilet paper. She came back with a small roll wrapped around her hand, but quickly glanced from the hand, to the mattress, to her mom, and walked back into the bathroom with no explanation. Lorelai could hear her blowing her nose for a very long time, and the water in the sink running as she washed her hands and face. Finally, she reemerged, looking brighter…somewhat refreshed, but very red-faced, with slightly swollen eyes and lips.

"I think I'm better now," she announced, sticking her hands in her pockets and crossing the room to stand in front of her mother. Lorelai smiled a small smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, and her hand reached out to grasp her daughter's arm encouragingly. "And, Rory, you are not a freak, or a failure. _Nobody_ is thinking that! And, your life, has taken kind of a nose-dive right now, there's no denying that. But, you are an amazing woman! And you will pick yourself up from this! And you will do amazing things, kid! I _know_ you will." Her expression grew more earnest. "Staying here in the diner, it's…it's gonna be hard, but…" Lorelai shrugged for a moment, laughing, and her hair fell into her eyes. "We always half lived here anyway, right?" Rory smiled at this. "And as far as what people are doing for you, or how they're looking at you…It's all love. _Really._ All of it. Even the staring part, and the not-looking-at-you-part. It doesn't feel like it, but…when something scary happens to somebody you love, at first, all you can do is stop and stare." Her eyes emphasized the point. "And when something bad and hurtful has _been_ happening to somebody you care about, and you didn't know, and you feel like you _should've known_ and you _should've done something to stop it…"_ her voice got teary in spite of herself. "You feel _guilty_. And, it's hard to look-to look the person in the face, because you feel like-like it's _your fault_-and they should be _blaming you, _but…" she choked, pressing her lips together and closing her eyes as two tears formed rivers down her cheeks in quick succession. She cleared her throat with a laugh, and started to stand. "I think I'm gonna need some of that toilet paper!"

They walked to the bathroom together, and Lorelai made use of what little toilet tissue was left.

"I guess I know what's first on the shopping list," Rory joked.

"Handy that Doose's is right across the street!" Lorelai smiled.

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of that. That's kinda cool," Rory said, and it came out in her chipper, fourteen-year-old voice. Her mom grinned with tears buried back somewhere behind her eyes. She nodded quickly, and stepped backward from the sink to hug Rory tightly.

"It's gonna be okay."

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

By the time most of the furniture was put together and the main, immediate necessities had been unpacked, very few people were left. Lane had returned the boys, and they were both conked out on the couch in the apartment. Rory sighed, wearily and made her way down the stairs, to thank the people who had stayed to help for so long. It was well past dark, and it was hard to keep her eyes open. Her muscles ached from all the unpacking, as well as from the stress.

The night air was cool, and the bell on the diner door jingled as she exited through it. Dean's truck was rumbling away as she walked out. Jess, Luke and Zach were packing away some of the broken down boxes and bungee cords into the bed of Luke's truck, and Michel stood next to it, arms folded, looking very tired. Sookie and Jackson had just finished loading up the cooking supplies and ingredients that Sookie had brought along with her, and spotting Rory, they came up to her to say goodbye.

"We're gonna take off now, Sweetie," Sookie said, shoulders shrugged in her sweater, and arms crossed in a snuggle-type fashion.

"Thank you guys _so much_ for all your help!" Rory told them genuinely. "I don't know how I could've done any of this without you!"

"Don't be silly, you know I love to cook. I'll use any excuse," Sookie dodged the praise kindly. "And, Rory, honey…I'll make you anything - whenever you want, okay?" Rory heard the words behind the words and leaned forward to hug Sookie.

"Okay," she nodded meaningfully.

Jackson mostly smiled and nodded, but he finished off with a "Goodnight, Rory," and a half-hug.

Michel shuffled his feet in his now crumpled very expensive shoes, arms folded in the suit Rory could not fathom why he wore on a moving day…but, Michel was Michel, and sometimes that was the only way to explain any of it. He came up to her awkwardly, his eyes only leaving the ground fleetingly, and catching her eyes only for milliseconds, but he seemed to have something to say.

"This man," he said in a voice much softer than she was accustomed to hearing from his mouth, "who did this thing to you. He is an idiot." He swallowed. "And, I hate _him_ very, very much." The whole thing was said very quietly, and with less vehemence than most of the words he spoke, but somehow…

"Thank you, Michel," Rory said, and rubbed her lips together, then took a breath, nodding. "Thank you for all of your help." Her breath caught in her throat for a moment and she nodded again slowly. "It means a lot to me," she finished quickly, and he nodded quickly, looking her in the eye at last for a long moment, before he turned his head back to the ground, turned on his heel and walked to his car…something black and very expensive that had doors that closed quietly and a motor you could barely hear hum as it drove off.

Zach hardly said anything. He didn't seem to have as much problem with the eyes, but his shoulders hung lower, and so did his head, and he nodded a lot, stumbling over his words. He was self-effacing when Rory thanked him, and accepted, not terribly reluctantly when she went to give him a hug. It was as if his entire persona could be epitomized by _aw, shucks!_ and a bashful smile.

She knew Luke and Lorelai would leave last, so it was really down to Jess. There was a knot in her stomach. Somehow, she'd been dreading all day the moment that she'd be forced to speak to him. It was different here. On the bridge it would have been…she mentally shrugged…there would have been sunshine and water and casualness. There wouldn't have been this formal, _here's this awful thing that you and everybody else are helping me through - this thing that wouldn't have happened if I'd listened to you…if I'd believed the things you said. But, I didn't. And in some ways, I'm only half sorry, because my life has mostly been very happy, and very contented…but I can't explain that to you. You could never see it. And what does it really matter now that I'm HERE…now that it all looks like one colossal mistake. But, I've got my boys. I certainly wouldn't wish them away. So, you see, I couldn't have listened to you…because…because… _She couldn't even make it come out right in her head. Even in the words she could never bring herself to say, she still eventually ran into a dead-end. She hoped he would say something. Jess may not have been a man of many words, but when he spoke them, now that he'd learned how to speak them, they usually came out exactly right. So, she mentally glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and took a step forward, hands clasped loosely behind her back, to match the step forward he took, drawing his forearm across his face, apparently wiping off a smudge of something.

His eyes were on the ground as he walked up slowly, and his hands tapped at his thighs in a hesitant fashion. But, though he bit his lips together, unready to speak, when he stood before her, his eyes looked up and met hers steadily. He bit his lower lip, and his gaze drifted slightly as though gathering his thoughts, and then came back to meet hers again.

"Rory, I don't want you to think that…" he drew a careful breath. "Come here," he said, unexpectedly, taking her by the shoulders and drawing her into firmest, most secure hug she could imagine getting from anyone. There was a calm to it, difficult to describe. After holding gently but firmly for at least ten seconds, he pulled back, still holding her by the shoulders. He tipped his head downward, raising his eyebrows and looked her squarely in the eye. "You see these shoulders?" he asked seriously indicating his own. She nodded. He gave a nod for emphasis. "They're for leaning and for tears," he stated firmly. "You see these ears?" She gave a small smile. "They're for anything that you need to talk about." He removed his hands from her shoulders, but it was quickly revealed that he wasn't finished yet. "You see these hands?" he asked, holding them up very deliberately in front of her. She nodded again. "They're for whatever work you need done around here." Her smile grew. He sighed slowly. "Now, you'd better make use of all three," his brow furrowed momentarily, correcting himself, "Six." She giggled slightly. "Or I'll-" He stopped, and her eyebrows raised. He seemed to be correcting himself again. "Or, I'll be very hurt," he told her earnestly, with a warmth in his eyes that created a corresponding, radiating warmth in the pit of her stomach. She smiled again, gratefully.

"Thanks, Jess." Her voice was soft, and it was all she could say. He smiled in return, just a small curl of the lips, but one that she's hadn't seen in a long time…not together with the warmth. In fact, she tried to remember if she'd seen them in combination, ever. She wasn't sure. The smile turned to a smirk, and he ducked his head a little, taking a step backward.

"I'll let you guys," he shrugged. "Do what you gotta do." He glanced around to Lorelai and Luke, and back to Rory. "You know we're 'Trading Spaces,' right?" Rory frowned in confusion. "Still haven't quite cleared all my old junk out of here," he said, indicating the apartment above them, "and, tonight, I'm going back to sleep on Luke and Lorelai's couch," he grinned.

"Oh…so, you mean, literally."

"Yup." His eyes twinkled. "Well, I'd better say goodnight," he said, and waved like it was a salute as he walked toward his car.

Lorelai turned to Jess, calling after him, "You gonna pick up the kids from Liz and TJ's place?"

"That's where I'm headed," he responded.

"Thanks, Jess!"

Luke, Lorelai and Rory heaved a collective sigh, and turned to go back into the diner…back into the apartment, to get her really settled in for the night. They climbed the stairs and helped get the boys from the couch, ready for and tucked into bed. Rory changed into pajamas in the bathroom, and brushed her teeth. She let Lorelai tuck her into bed. It was a reassuring, peaceful feeling, her mother smoothing her hair by her temple, Luke standing back a few paces, a warm smile on his face. Suddenly, she felt like she was about six years old…only with everything fixed…everything as it should be. She smiled softly. She wasn't ready for sleep yet, but just as she might have if she really had been six, she pretended to close her eyes and drift off. She felt her mother bend down and kiss her cheek, hair tickling her ear and then brushing across her face.

"Goodnight, little girl," she whispered, just before the light went off. She heard the door close. She tried to hang on to that feeling of warmth and wholeness, so she wouldn't feel cold and empty and alone.

_**A/N: I hope all of you have a feeling of warmth and happiness as you drift off to sleep when you go to bed tonight! Sweet dreams!**_


	18. In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

_**A/N: Wow…a chapter in which Logan actually made me smile…and cry. There's a first! This story seems to be teaching me as I go along. I was able to think of even Dean in a tolerable light in the last chapter, and this one, I actually like Logan in fits and starts. Ah, the walls of prejudice…or post-judice…coming down. ;-)**_

Dark and moonlight and streetlight struggled for supremacy, as did silence and sound. Rory tried to get used to the new silence. This silence didn't echo…didn't muffle the sound of Logan's stumbling footsteps on the stair, wasn't broken by his drunken oaths when the walls didn't cooperate with him by opening up and letting him pass through unharmed, or by his snoring at her side, or the maid bustling around to clear the clutter of the day. Instead, it held a ticking clock, and the whispered breathing of two small boys. It was a pleasanter silence, but still, unfamiliar. Her mind refused to shut off. It wasn't crowded like a rush-hour subway as it had been those two nights on Luke and Lorelai's couch. It was calmer now, but it still wouldn't shut down and let her sleep.

A small whimpering moan came through the light and dark of the room, and Rory was at Chase's bedside within a moment. He was still sleeping, but there were toddler tears in amongst the sleep. She sat down gently on the edge of the bed beside him, bending over his sleeping form, protective, as if somehow cradling from above. She rubbed his belly in gentle circles with her palm and the pads of her fingers. Her other hand smoothed the silken wisps of his brown hair. The whimpering quieted, as if by magic. And it was. Mother-love is as magical a thing as any in the galaxy.

She sighed. He was getting big. Too much longer, and it would be hard to see the baby in him at all. Her hand went involuntarily to her stomach, and her thumb stroked softly the skin under which he once had been. Chase Grandon Huntzberger.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

"_Grandon?" Logan asked with something half-way between a frown and a smirk. Rory nodded, smiling and sparkle-eyed with her hand resting on her eight-and-a-half month pregnant belly. "Grandon," he repeated. "Like 'grandson' without the 's'? Like…wait, please tell me it's not after who I think it is."_

"_What-Why?" Rory countered, still smiling. "She's an inspiration!" Logan handed her the glass of ice water in his hand, and the smirk became quite pronounced. In fact, it was bordering on a full-out smile of utter amusement at his wife's oddity._

"_You really want to name our son after a mentally impaired _woman?" _he was repressing laughter by this point, for he was a man who knew that such complete mocking was bound to get him mildly injured if he didn't stay out of arm's reach._

"_She was __**not**__ mentally impaired!" Rory defended._

" 'The Woman Who Thinks Like a Cow_'? Really, Rory? That's not mentally impaired?-And, for the record, I was emphasizing the 'woman' part," he clarified. They both knew this was rapidly turning into a battle, but one of the lively, playful kind of battles that had made the last four-and-a-half years of their lives some of the happiest._

"_What's wrong with her being a woman?" Rory bridled._

"_Nothing is wrong with _her_ being a woman. It was my son having the name of a woman…and not just any woman, but a woman of diminished mental capacity, for the _rest of his life! _Do you have any _idea_ the kind of teasing that's going to subject him to?"_

"_She graduated from a school for the gifted! And she got a doctorate! That's as high as you can get! She's a university professor, and a bestselling author!" Rory defended stoutly._

"_You seem to be missing all the most important parts of this conversation," Logan said, looking puzzled._

"_That's because _you're_ having a different conversation!" she criticized._

"_Glad you noticed."_

_Rory huffed out a sigh, pushing herself inch by inch, halting and awkward, closer to being ready to stand up._

"_Here," Logan said, offering his hand…arm…arm…hand. Which one appeared as if it would be actually helpful kept changing with her shifting position._

"_Thanks." She grunted, upright at last, and began to waddle._

"_Where are you going?"_

"_Kitchen."_

"_For?"_

"_Cashews."_

"_And you didn't tell me this so I could go and get them for you, be-_cause?_"_

"_I'm not crippled," she shrugged. Logan put a hand to the side of his face as he followed her from one room to the other._

"_You're gonna make me lose my badge," he complained._

"_Badge?" Rory frowned in confusion, and stopped, hand on the door of the refrigerator._

"_The cashews aren't in there," he stated, a mirrored look of confusion on his face._

"_Changed my mind," she announced, opening the fridge. He nodded rapidly in a _should have known_ manner. "What badge?"_

"_Badge?"_

"_You said you were losing a badge," she reminded him._

"_Oh. 'World's Greatest Husband of a Pregnant Lady.' It's a lot of letters to put on a badge. In fact, they've been trying to figure out how to fit them all into such a small space ever since last time you were pregnant."_

"_That's a long time to be making a badge."_

"_It is, and now you're making me lose it!"_

"_Forgive me. Next time I'll have you get the Oreos."_

"_But you wanted the cashews. And, why were the Oreos in the fridge?" He frowned at the last bit._

"_That's why it's better if I get them. And I don't know," she said, answering both his questions in succession._

"_You don't know what?"_

"_Why the Oreos are in the fridge. Are you sure you aren't related to Dory?" she accused._

"_The blue fish? No. I've got P. Sherman 42, Wallaby Way, Sydney down just fine. It's Oreos and cashews that are getting me tangled up," he said quickly, with furrowed brows._

"_What were we talking about before I got up?"_

"_Having different conversations."_

"_Oh, right. She's a brilliant writer, inventor, and advocate, and somebody that I'd like my children to look up to," Rory explained, using what she thought were brilliant points of reasoning._

"_But, you still don't stick a kid with the name of somebody kids would call a 'retard' who is of the opposite gender, unless you really want your kid beat up every day!" he insisted. "Besides - wasn't she with an 'I-N' not an 'O-N'?"_

"_See, that makes it all better!" she grinned widely, with a little squeal._

"_I give up."_

"_Ooh! Ooh! That means Chase Grandon Huntzberger it is! We've got a winner! At last!" She pranced around as well as a very, very pregnant woman can prance. Logan grinned in spite of himself._

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

Rory shook her head at the memory, just barely able to stand it. Chase was quiet now, and she gingerly stood, careful not to wake him with her weight shifting off the mattress. Instead of returning to her own bed, though, she tiptoed over to Trevor, looking at the rise and fall of his little self beneath the blankets, small fist curled next to his eye at an awkward angle she couldn't imagine being comfortable enough for sleep, though, plainly it was.

She kneeled beside the bed, gazing at the four-year-old, but seeing him smaller, so much smaller in her mind's eye.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

_He looked like he worked in the hospital, the protective garb looking like powder blue scrubs, with the gloves, and the mask that now hung loosely around his neck, the odd-looking cap on his head, and even the paper booties on his feet. But still, the 10,000 kilowatt smile that lit his face more than made up for the ridiculousness of his apparel. He was holding his firstborn child, his son._

"_He's so perfect, Ace…" Logan's eyes crinkled at the corners, and she could swear he was even a little misty around the edges of the gleaming eyes, the beaming grin._

"_He looks like you," Rory answered weakly, lying limp against the hospital bed, but with a smile in her weary eyes, and a light to her tissue thin voice, her lips curled upward at the corners._

"_Me?" his eyebrows raised, and he smiled impishly at his wife across the newborn infant in his arms. "Not the milkman? You sure?" She scoffed tiredly and he chuckled, looking back at the tiny bundle of love that was reaching out to the world with clawing fingers and eyes squeezed shut tight, velvet almost-not-there eyebrows pinched together in a frown that was somewhere halfway between starting to cry and falling asleep. Logan laughed again, softly. "No, that's not me. That's Mitchum's scowl! Can't you see it?" he teased._

"_Be nice to our baby!" she scolded softly._

"_I am being nice," he assured her, smiling. "I just said he looked like his grandpa! Is that such a crime?" he asked, his voice cheerful._

"_In general, no, but Mitchum's scowl is _not_ attractive," she insisted. _

"_Oh…so, I should only point out the attractive features. Sorry, still learning the ground rules," he teased. "Well, in that case, I'll point out that he has your smile."_

"_He hasn't smiled yet," Rory pointed out, unnecessarily._

"_Well, he will have your smile, when he starts to smile."_

"_You're ridiculous!" she chided. "And, I hope he has your smile."_

"_What would he want that for? Yours is ten times better!" Logan maintained, keeping the expression that his wife thought proved him one hundred percent wrong. Rory didn't reply. She stopped, awestruck._

"_We have a baby…" she uttered softly, still unable to fathom it. He came very close to responding with gentle sarcasm, but the look on her face, the sound of her voice, prevented him._

"_Can you believe it?" he asked, sharing the breathless tone of her voice. She shook her head, eyes fixed on the soft, perfect cargo he held….._

The taste of saltwater on her tongue brought her back to the present, as she gazed at the fading bruises on her little boy's face…that same perfect face that often held Logan's smile, sometimes Mitchum's scowl. _He's so perfect, Ace._ The voice kept echoing in her mind as the silent tears came faster and faster.

"Oh, Logan!" she whispered into the darkness. "Logan, what happened to you? Where did you go? I need you…" she choked. "_I need you…where did you go?_" She stifled her sobs into the comforter hanging down on the side of Trevor's bed, and tried to get a hold of herself, breathing deeply until the tears subsided, and the ache dulled.

It felt distinctly like grieving for someone who died. The thought clattered around in her brain and ricocheted razor-like through her heart. Like grieving for someone who'd been murdered…and then having to live with his murderer. The murderer who had the gall to inhabit the body of his victim. This ghoulish fancy swirled in her mind along with the love and the hatred and the confusion that now made up her sentiments toward the shell of the man she married. Sometimes it seemed that his true self wasn't dead after all…just submerged…surfacing every so often with gasping breath, pleading for this monster to quit drowning him, begging his wife for her hand to hang onto…to pull him out bodily from the quicksand…but it swallowed him…sucked him in with such strength that it ripped him from her grasp. She held on with all of her strength. But, it wasn't enough. The quicksand was stronger than she was. And it was swallowing up everything she held precious. When it opened its mouth wide and tried to take her children in its ravenous jaws, she had no choice but to let go, clutch her children to her with all of her might, and run. They had escaped with their lives…three of them had escaped with their lives. One had been lost. And she wept.

_**A/N: Reviews please….thank you.**_


	19. So Much For Prince Charming

Honor pulled up to the Huntzberger mansion, exited her car, _clack-clacked_ up the cobbled walkway in her stiletto heels, and rang the bell. She waited for what seemed, in her impatience to get to the other side of the oppressive hardwood doors, like an eternity before ringing it again. Three seconds more and she rang it again…twice. Just after the third ring, her brother's voice came muffled through the doors.

"Who is it?"

"It's Honor. Since when do you screen your visitors before-" she began as the door swung open, but when she took in the state of his appearance, she broke off mid-question and gaped openly. "What happened to you?" she demanded in shock. He was sporting a wicked black eye and several other facial contusions with a look of extreme embarrassment.

"Can I say that I'd rather not talk about it?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"You can _say_ anything you want, but you aren't going to get out of telling me who did that to you, and why," his sister insisted. He stepped back from the door, motioning for her to come in.

"What brings you here?" he inquired, as he usshered her into the drawing room.

"There's something I wanted to discuss with you and Rory, but at the moment that's beside the point. You're deflecting. What happened?" She refused to be redirected. Logan closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh and set his mouth in pained silence.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

"Rory, I came as soon as I heard!" Her piercing blue eyes were softer than usual. Everything about her was softer than usual. But, this was Honor Huntzberger-Gherrig, so that wasn't saying much. Not that she was, as a matter of course, harsh or abrasive in any way. Just that Honor was perpetually to-the-point, even when the point was gaiety or frivolousness. Today, when the point was somber and solemn, it was softened by love and regret.

Rory didn't know where to look. She had a great deal of trouble with eye-contact lately, and meeting the gaze of Logan's sister, certainly wasn't the exception. She didn't know where to look, or what to say.

"Are you all right?" Honor continued earnestly. Her eyes may have softened, but her voice lost none of its directness, though it was tempered with empathy. "Rory, please say something."

"I…" Rory looked at the ground and trailed off and left silence in the wandering path of her eyes, eventually finishing with an empty, vague shake of the head that showed far more clearly than any words, that there was simply nothing to say.

"You poor darling! I'm so sorry. I'm about ready to kill Logan!" she said in frustration, stepping forward and hugging Rory tightly. To Honor's surprise, and her own, Rory laughed a little at this.

"No…it's just…" Rory shook her head. "You're the first person to actually say it to me out loud," she observed, raising her eyebrows a bit with something close to a smile. "That's just kind of strange. Refreshing, actually." Honor smiled minutely in understanding. "It's just, I would have thought…" Rory shrugged. "I don't know."

"You would have thought that all the men in your family would have formed a lynch mob and beat Logan to a bloody pulp before finishing him off?" she suggested. Rory laughed fully at this, nodding. But when the nod ended, it left a tear in its place.

"I mean, I know they can't…" her voice broke, "…but-" She choked.

"That's why they don't say so," Honor stated with a steady, sympathetic look. "They'd have to admit how powerless they are." Rory swallowed and nodded again with her eyes on the floor. "Rory please tell me."

Rory lifted her eyes, with a frown creasing the space between her eyebrows, clearly not understanding what Honor wanted to be told.

"The boys?" Her voice trembled. Rory wouldn't have thought Honor's voice capable of trembling. She always sounded so sure of everything - so made-of-ivory-and-bronze.

"Chase is fine," Rory said softly. "Trevor's…" The worry in Honor's face heightened as Rory struggled for words. "…recovering." Honor's face turned pale. Her voice paled with it.

"From what?"

Several seconds of silence.

"Cuts and bruises."

Honor held steady. It was impossible to see whether this was better or worse than she'd been expecting. After several more seconds, she drew a breath. "Bad?"

Rory nodded with her eyes on the floor once again. Honor was frozen another second or two before she turned her face to the ceiling, eyes blinking distinctly and slowly, allowing her tear ducts to drain inward. After a long while, her head dropped, almost curling inward. "Oh, Logan…" she murmured, her voice meant for herself alone, though Rory could hear the words plainly enough. "You promised," she whispered, reproachfully. In another second, she seemed to come back to herself, to the room, to Rory. She looked up. Her voice sounded like Honor again. "Is he going to be okay?"

Rory shrugged. "He'll probably have a couple of scars on his knees. But, almost every little boy does." She was trying to minimize as best she could. After all, this was Logan's sister. She had more than enough grief to deal with right now. "Inside…?" Rory's eyebrows lifted and frowned, her lips twitched into a long straight line that tried to keep a tight grip on her emotions. She shrugged. "…who knows."

"His knees?" Honor's brows knit together in something deeper than confusion. "Rory. Logan's the one who told me you were gone. He guessed you'd be here. He didn't _send_ me, it's just what he said when I asked where you were. He told me everything he knows, and…" She sighed. "He doesn't know anything, Rory - except for the fact that you left, and that he _must_ have hurt one or both of the boys, or you _wouldn't_ have left." She glanced downward, briefly. "It's killing him, Rory."

"He doesn't remember." The words were dull and flat. They came from a part of Rory that was completely numb.

Honor sighed again, deeper this time. "No. Not a thing." She shook her head. "That kills him too. He knows that he hurt his children, probably very badly, but he doesn't know how, or why, or how much. _And neither do I_," she choked at the admission of her own ignorance, and it told how much she was hurting for them both.

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but after they sat down on the couch, Rory recounted the events of that terrible night all over again, knowing that every word was like a knife wound in her sister-in-law's heart, although Honor was good at hiding what it cost her to listen to the narrative. She also knew that every word she said would make it back to Logan's ears, and that even though he must fear the worst, this would be, by far, bad enough. She couldn't help but feel his pain on top of her own. Everything in her wished she didn't, but feelings aren't something you can turn off and on like a light switch.

When it was over, Honor was silent. Now it was Rory's turn to ask.

"Before…" she said, softly, not wanting to intrude on someone else's private thoughts, but some things she had to know. "You said, 'You promised.' What-" Honor didn't let her finish the question.

"No." Honor's voice was quiet, but with a note of sober finality. "I'm not going to make excuses for him. He doesn't deserve it." Rory was more puzzled than ever. She didn't want excuses. She wanted explanations. And there was _something _that Honor knew.

"I don't care." Rory's voice was just as definite. Honor raised her eyebrows. "Whatever it is, if it's true, it's not an excuse. And, it's something I should know, isn't it?" Rory's tone was even and abrupt, her expression, calculating. She wasn't trying to be cold, but she wasn't about to be kept in the dark either.

Honor sighed. Her lips tightened. "It was a pact," she stated concisely. "We said that we'd never hit our children." She took a quick breath. "We signed it in blood." Rory's eyes went wide, as much from her tone as from the words themselves. She said it as someone would say, "we went for a walk," or "we picked up the mail" - as if it had no significance. Rory didn't know how to ask the question that followed, the one that almost didn't require asking. Rory Huntzberger, consummate reporter for the Yale Daily News, The L.A. Times, The… How do you ask that?

Honor smiled wanly. "Yeah." She nodded. No need to ask. "Good old Dad." She possessed Logan's knack for deadpan sarcasm.

Rory gathered her courage. "So, he would…get drunk, and lose his temper and beat you?" _What an awful thing to ask anybody! _

"No!" Honor corrected, quickly, with a surprised sigh that said how off-base this supposition was. "Mitchum never drank," she stated authoritatively. This was a shock to Rory's system, and she sat back suddenly.

"But…" Rory frowned as deeply as her face was capable of. _That's impossible! _"Logan said that…" She tried to sort it out. "After Mitchum died, and Logan started _really, really_ drinking, he told me that he was turning into his father! He said it with a voice that was…_so scared_…I… He warned me to stay away from him. He said that…" She turned her frown to the corner of the room, head tilting, staring off into space, as if the world just tilted several more degrees on its axis and nothing was in its proper place.

"That's not what he was talking about." Rory snapped out of her daze at the sound of Honor's voice, but her face lost none of its puzzlement. "He meant what he did to Mom." Honor drew a breath, trying to say the things that would take the confusion out of Rory's eyes. "Mitchum was an alcoholic, but he never drank. That was Mom," she explained. Rory blinked.

"I thought she was a stress smoker." That brought a ghost of a smile to Honor's face.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive." Rory's face held the next question, but Honor anticipated it. "They were both alcoholics, but, of course, Mitchum _conquered_ his! - Whereas, Mom only pretended to. - After all, alcoholism is a weakness, and heaven forbid a Huntzberger have a weakness." She pressed her lips together. "So, Dad hit her, and Mom drank…and Mom drank, and Dad hit her…vicious, vicious cycle. Never with his fists, mind you. _That_ would be too brutish!" Rory's eyebrows raised. That part sounded familiar. "Did Logan say he was turning into Dad before or after he…?"

"After." Rory said quietly. "Just once. About a week after the wake. " Honor nodded.

"Logan's very confused right now… It's no excuse. None at all. But he's confused. Without Dad, he doesn't know who he is." Rory and Honor sat there, looking at one another straight in the eyes. Rory took a slow, tense breath.

"Mitchum did the same thing to you and Logan…the same as he did to your mom?" She held Honor's gaze.

"No. Not at all." Honor looked down at her fingernails, fiddling with a hangnail for a moment. She looked back up and met Rory's eyes once more. "With Dad, everything was… Mitchum ran a tight ship. Insubordination was absolutely never tolerated, under any circumstance. Insolence meant the back of his hand…making sure you were _properly quelled_. And, if he learned of a _serious_ infraction of the rules, there was a kind of a court martial, followed by a whipping. At age twelve corporal punishment stopped and was replaced by solitary confinement. Bread and water. No joke." Rory was staring intently. Everything about what she was saying was so foreign.

"Needless to say, we…" Honor stopped, her eyes scanning the room absently as she gathered herself again. That must have been what she was doing, though she hadn't seemed to lose her composure for a moment. "All we ever had was each other. And, we _weren't _going to turn out like _them! _Logan hated him _so much._ Mitchum was grooming him to 'fill his shoes,' 'walk in his footsteps.'" Honor shook her head. "He was so determined not to… And, now look at him! Running the Huntzberger empire, just like he swore he never would…living in that ostentatious Huntzberger mausoleum of a house, with the servants and the… " She stopped.

Quietness hung in the air.

"I told you to leave him," Honor said quietly. Rory's jaw dropped open halfway. Did she really need to hear _I told you so?_

"I know you did," she said in a tone that asked why Honor was bringing this up _now_ of all times. "But, I _couldn't!_ He was struggling… He was grieving… He was battling this awful, _awful nightmare!_ I couldn't just _abandon_ him!" Honor looked at her, unmoved. "I loved him! I loved him, and _he was sinking!_"

"Yes. He was sinking. He was crashing. He was…_IS! _He's Twilight Zoning it right into Dad's life, Rory! Dad's life, Mom's life, both of them all mixed together in some weird…" She sighed. "Loganis _living_ a nightmare, and he needs to _wake up!_ He will _not_ do that until he hits _rock bottom._ And he wasn't going to hit rock bottom…until you were gone." Rory stared. "I'm not… Please, Rory, I know your life has been a living hell. I'm not trying to make it worse, or make you think that it's your fault. I'm just _telling you…why. Why_ I said you should leave sooner, rather than later. Mitchum hit rock bottom when it was much, much too late." Rory took a shuddering gasp. "I _pray_ that it's not too late for Logan." She looked out the window and her lips tightened before looking back. "Just, don't go back to him until he wakes up and fixes this."

Rory shook her head, shrinking back. "I haven't decided that I'm going back to him _at all!_" she insisted.

"Good," Honor said, simply. "If you do… _Wait._" She stood. Having said her piece, she seemed to be ready to leave. But, just before her hand reached the doorknob, she turned back, looking at Rory softly. "Rory…"

Rory looked up.

"No matter what happens between you and Logan. I'm keeping you as my sister." Her voice sounded hard, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She seemed to hesitate, as if there was something more she was debating whether or not to say - a post script to the entire conversation. "Josh is divorcing me."

"_What?_" Rory gasped. _Talk about out of the blue!_

Honor laughed back the tears in her eyes. "He says he's tired of the drama."

Rory's eyes went wide, and she actually lurched forward in utter incomprehension. _How could he?_

"Dad… Mom… Logan… Apparently, I don't count."

Rory shook her head disbelievingly. "So, he's leaving you to deal with all of it?"

Honor shrugged. "Pretty much," she said in forced cheerfulness. She shrugged again, trying to make light. "So much for Prince Charming." Rory flew from her seat, and flung her arms around her sister-in-law. The tears that had been building up inside the beautiful, put-together, so-much-more-than-a-trophy-wife for so long, came spilling out silently in this safe haven, the only one she'd been able to find since her husband abdicated from the position.

"You are _so_ not leaving now!" Rory declared. "You are staying _right here_, and we are getting ice cream! And pie! And we're renting movies! And we're _going to do our nails!_" Honor laughed through her tears, hugging tighter, and then backing up, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"It doesn't sound like I have any choice in the matter," she smiled through a sniffle.

"None at all!" Rory nodded her head in fierce determination. She pointed strictly at Honor before turning to leave the room. "Don't move!" She left quickly to inform Luke of the urgent need for pie and ice cream…and slip out at lightning speed for movies and nail polish.

_Honor sat back down on the couch, swallowed the lump in her throat, and pulled out her cell phone. Before she distracted herself in true Gilmore style, there were a few painful details she needed to tell her brother._


	20. ExBoyfriendFriendish StepCousin…InLa

_**A/N: Okay, I had loads of fun with this! It may seem like plot-wise, it's wandering in large circles, but believe it or not, there are several points to this chapter. AND I've discovered that Jess and Honor would like each other. I mean, not like-like, but like…you know…like…not like. It also seemed like (sheesh, there's that word again!) this story had far too many dark, heavy chapters with not nearly enough fluffy fun for balance, and as has been pointed out by some of my readers, for a story that's tagged Rory and Jess, not nearly enough Rory and Jess. There really is a reason for that. Really, truly. But, to be fair, there hadn't been enough good Litness for my taste or anyone else's. So, this is, I think, the longest chapter to date, and most of it takes place with Rory and Jess in the same room…talking through most of it, even. Hope you enjoy. Let me know absolutely EVERYTHING you think! *does a delighted twirl at the prospect***_

Jess knew what a number the moving day had done on Luke. He was good at hiding it, but his back was really killing him, and he'd winced a few too many times for his nephew to ignore it. When he and Lorelai had gotten home, Jess already had the kids in bed and told Luke he'd open the diner in the morning, brooking no refusal.

He'd nodded in Lorelai's direction and told her, "See if you can make him stay home the whole day. You know he needs it." Luke had glared. Lorelai had smiled. Scoring points with Lorelai had been the last thing on his mind, but he'd certainly racked up a few over the course of the night.

The next morning had been pretty average as far as mornings at the diner were concerned. The only thing out of the ordinary was Lorelai coming to pick up Trevor and Chase so that Rory could focus on putting the apartment in order without little ones underfoot. If Jess told himself that he wasn't hoping to see Rory coming up and down the stairs as a lovely bonus for covering for Luke, he'd been lying. Then again, self-deception had become second nature. He groaned internally when Lorelai ordered breakfast to take up to her. He'd planned to take some up if she didn't come down for it. Nice gesture. Nice excuse. Oh well.

Jess wasn't the only one to look up in mild shock mid-afternoon when a perfectly coiffed 30-something blonde whisked in the door with an air of determination, and sans introduction announced, "I'm here to see Rory Huntzberger." Without excess motion or words, Jess pointed up the stairs, hoping this wasn't someone Rory wished to avoid. The polished young woman strode up the stairs without hesitation, despite four-inch heels, and Jess stared after her at the wafting curtain in puzzlement. He dismissed it with quickly raised eyebrows and a shrug and went back to work, not unaware that the entire exchange had intrigued half the diner.

Almost an hour later, Rory came through the curtain, acting as if she was in a hurry.

"Luke, I need pie and- You're not Luke," she stopped abruptly, coming face to face with an amused Jess.

"Very astute," he observed. She seemed slightly discomfited, as if she was somehow unaccustomed to making demands of the young man smirking in front of her. Granted, it had been awhile, but still. She never used to hesitate to do so.

"Um…I need pie and ice cream…stat," she said, trying to sound as sure of herself as she'd been the moment before. He nodded, eyebrows raised.

"You headed to Doose's for cones?" he asked, seeing that she was backing towards the door.

"Um, no. The Stars Hollow Beauty Supply and Video Store," she blurted out.

"Interesting," he nodded, frowning.

"Not very," she said, returning the frown.

"Not interesting that the Stars Hollow Beauty Supply merged with Stars Hollow Video, and they now carry ice cream cones? Huh…I thought it was," he teased, but she was in Rory-dense mode, and so the joke was lost on her.

"No. Movies. Nail polish…Separate," she stumbled, her sentences disintegrating into fragments, aided by awkward, unofficial sign language. He nodded, unable to keep a straight face.

"So, no movie-nail-polish combo ice cream cones. Got it." His eyes twinkled.

"Stop it," she ordered.

"Right. Zero-fun, sir!" He clicked his heels together and saluted. Poor Rory was too confused even to catch the movie quotation, so he took pity on her. "I'll get Cesar to cover for me and get the pie, and I'll go over to Doose's for cones while you get movies and nail polish. It sounds like you have a very interesting and very feminine emergency upstairs," he smiled. Her brows knit together in a frown, ready to come to the defense of her gender's seeming frivolity, but he stopped her before she began. "If it was a masculine emergency, it would involve beer instead of ice cream, the pies would be more along the lines of the pizza variety, and if nail polish were involved it would be highly disturbing," he explained. She tried to hold in a smile at this, making her lips twist involuntarily. "Movies! Nail polish! I thought you were in a hurry!" he reminded her, and she skittered out the door. He laughed to himself quietly and looked down, sharing the joke with the floor. Babette and Patty enjoyed it too, but he wasn't paying them any attention.

Jess acquired the cones quickly, though not appearing to be in any rush, not caring that it meant a run-in with Taylor, not minding Taylor's jibe about him being a 'young derelict.' Honestly, he didn't even hear the rest of the sentence. Taylor seemed puzzled and slightly disturbed by his lack of retort, but Jess didn't much notice this either.

When he returned to the diner, Rory wasn't back yet, but the blonde woman was standing in front of the counter looking slightly lost, and as if she was unaccustomed to feeling lost, and held herself even more stiffly upright to hide it. Seeing Jess, she seemed slightly more at ease. At least she had spoken to him before.

"Where did Rory go?" she asked, sounding a bit nervous, but masking it, though not well enough to fool Jess.

"To get nail polish and movies," he replied, watching her shift uncomfortably at this. She clearly wasn't comfortable with his knowledge of their planned activities. So, evidently, it was her emotions that required assuaging. _Interesting._ He scraped his teeth across his lower lip. "Would you like to start off with some pie now?" he asked innocently. She flinched.

Why was he doing this? _Leave the poor girl alone. She's obviously going through…something. - Exactly._ He knew that whatever it was she was going through involved Rory, and Rory was very vulnerable right now. The last thing she needed was more to worry about. _Down, Cujo!_ It was hard to control his lips after this amusing self-lecture.

"No, thank you. I'll just wait for Rory," she replied, attaining a more self-contained air and sitting down on one of the stools at the far end of the counter. He nodded and took up the coffee pot, venturing to refill customers cups without any verbal acknowledgement of her reply.

The next second, Rory breezed in the door, and her eyes went from Jess with the coffeepot to Honor sitting at the counter. "I thought I told you not to move!" she scolded petulantly. Honor opened her mouth, but Jess cut her off.

"Sit! Stay! Good dog!" Jess mocked Rory at treating her guest like a pet. Besides, his mind hadn't strayed far from his own similar self-instructions. Rory swung around to glare at him.

"Jess!" she censured, with wide, deliberate eyes.

"Sorry," he said, stifling a laugh. _What is WRONG with you, today? You DO realize that you've just insinuated that her guest is a dog? Well, she certainly seems to have pedigree._ Jess rolled his eyes at himself. It had to be something about being in the diner with Rory. He could feel over a decade of maturity slipping from him in ways that were pleasant, but inconvenient.

Honor raised her eyebrows. "Well, are you going to introduce us, Rory?" she asked. It was impossible to tell whether she was miffed by the insult and hiding it, or amused by it…and hiding it. The only thing that was certain was that she hadn't missed it. Obliviousness was distinctly lacking in the air which emanated from her. Jess turned his eyes toward her, and then back to Rory.

"Yes. At least that way, when I inadvertently insult your guest, we'll be on a first name basis and she'll feel freer to smack me for it," he said, teasing turned to diplomacy. Rory smiled a tiny smile and looked nervous, but inhaled to begin the introduction.

"Jess, this is Honor Huntzberger-Gherrig, my sister-in-law." She paused slightly and Jess bit his lips together with a short, deliberate nod. "Honor, this is Jess…" _Better to leave it there._ "…my-" Jess cringed. Honor raised her eyebrows. "…_friend?_" The word was ridiculously tentative, and made Jess smirk and Honor tip her head downward and raise her eyebrows further. "…or, um…ex-boyfriend, step-cousin, and we kind of share a father...in a way." Jess spluttered with laughter as Rory chose the absolute worst possible way to phrase an introduction. Honor looked slightly aghast, which cracked him up even more. Rory looked at him in irritation. Jess turned back to face them and choked back his laughter, extending a hand to Honor.

"Nobody's been able to successfully chart a family tree yet, but they have called in an arborist, which is absolutely necessary in cases of such blatant multiple incestuous relationships," he smirked, shaking Honor's hand and making Rory blush furiously.

"Jess!" she repeated indignantly, but, ignoring her, Honor replied without missing a beat.

"To cut you off without a cent, I presume?" she returned.

"Excuse me?" he frowned, confusion causing him to keep hold of her hand a moment longer than he would have otherwise done.

"The arborist," Honor clarified. He let go of her hand abruptly, realizing he still held it.

"No doubt. Not exactly an unusual situation for me."

"To be cut off?" she inquired. He shrugged one shoulder.

"No, to be senseless," he smiled. Honor looked at Rory with an eager, cheerful expression.

"Is he single?" she asked, pointing to Jess, who took a quick but subtle step backward, a look of amusement flashing across his face.

"Yes, but you're not!" Rory reminded her, horrified for the second time within forty seconds. Jess took a second step backward.

"No, but I'm not as married as you are," Honor rejoined as if this had significance.

"I'm sorry- marriage goes by _degrees_ now?" Jess frowned again, drawing his head backward in baffled disapproval.

"Certainly," Honor replied, "Someone who's recently and unofficially separated is much more married than someone who's been served divorce papers the previous morning when she was expecting breakfast." Jess winced.

"Sorry." He chewed on his lips and looked mostly floorward. Honor shrugged slightly.

"Compared to the rest of the year, it's a ripple in the pond," she said tiredly, and then looked back up at Rory. "And, it was a joke," she explained. "Forgive my poor taste." She could see from the look on Rory's face that she felt bad.

"I didn't mean to jump all over you," she said quietly.

"I'm too short for you anyway," Jess said to Honor with a self-deprecating smirk and something like sympathy in his eyes.

"Easily overlooked," she smiled more softly. Wishing fervently to change the subject, Jess reached for the bag Rory had set on the counter marked "Stars Hollow Video."

"Let's see what chick-flicks of the cheering up variety Rory has-" He'd opened the bag and scanned its contents, looking up at Rory in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding!"

"What?" Rory defended, before she even knew what precisely she was defending.

"'_Up!' _And _'An Affair to Remember'_?" he exclaimed, in a _you're sure?_ tone. "And, I thought your _mom_ was bad at picking movies to cheer up by!"

"What's wrong with them?" Rory demanded.

"Have you _seen_ these movies?" he asked incredulously.

"I've seen '_An Affair to Remember'_ millions of times! It's not about an affair," she explained unnecessarily.

"I've _seen the movie_, Rory. I was referring to the _mops_ and _buckets_ that will be required for the tears that are gonna be shed! That's like, the most infamously _cryingest _movie of all time!"

"That is _so_ not a word!" she interrupted his rant.

"And '_Up!_' is no better!" he informed her.

"Then it's mis-titled," she said decidedly.

"Granted, but…you _seriously_ haven't seen this movie?" he asked. Rory shook her head. "It's about childhood sweethearts who get married, and can't have kids, and after a beautiful lifetime together, _she dies_, and he's left trying to pick up the pieces!"

"What's with the spoilers?" Rory complained.

"That's in, like, the first five minutes…maybe ten…or fifteen," he squinted, trying to remember. "But, it's _really_ sad."

"Sounds perfect," Rory chirped. Jess frowned, his head craning forward, trying to understand whether he was trying to understand women in general, or Rory in particular. Either way, she wasn't making sense. "You obviously are entirely ignorant of the cathartic properties of a really good tearjerker!" Rory informed him. He tipped his head to one side, conceding the point. "I mean, after all - what would you suggest, '_Almost Famous'_?" He stuck out his lower lip, tipping his head to the other side, as if considering. Rory shook her head at him emphatically, with a significant look that was completely lost on him. Rory whispered, as if Honor wasn't close enough to hear, "'Cause, you know, their dad-" She mimed putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger.

Jess' eyes got huge and he spun on his heel while squelching something that was trying mightily not to be a laugh with his forearm.

"That was seriously the most insensitive thing I have ever seen anybody do," he told her with his back still turned. He turned back to face her. "And, I grew up with Liz Danes!" His eyes shot from Rory to Honor and back again. Neither seemed affected by her horrible faux pas in the slightest. He wasn't ready to lose ground on this one, though. "Seriously, Rory. You and your mom are dangerous. You should leave the cheering up to me, unless you want to keep a crisis line handy." Honor turned to Rory with a raise of the eyebrows and a conspiratorial tone, projected loud enough to be clearly heard.

"Hey, there's a hot, single guy who's volunteering to cheer me up over my divorce in the apartment above the diner where he works! What do you think I should do?" Her eyes widened for dramatic effect. Rory crossed her arms across her stomach and shook with silent laughter. Jess bit his lip and let his head fall forward. He'd stepped right into that one.

Just then, Luke came in the door.

"I thought you were supposed to be running the diner," he told Jess, seeing him engaged in conversation with Rory and Honor in front of the counter, without so much as an order pad in his hand or a pencil over his ear.

"I thought you were supposed to be resting," Jess returned. Luke made a scoffing noise and batted the objection away with his hand.

"_Oh!_ Does that mean you can come watch movies with us?" Honor asked excitedly.

"What, so I can sit between you and hold the tissues?" he asked sarcastically. Rory squealed as if he'd said yes. Jess shot Luke an agonized look. Luke enjoyed his nephew's predicament. "You are _not_ doing my nails!" he glared at Rory, pointing an index finger accusingly. She grinned wickedly. "That's a deal-breaker!" he insisted.

"So, if I promise we won't do your nails, will you come?" Rory grinned. _I swear, she's fifteen!_ He groaned. She knew he was giving in, and she squealed again, as she and Honor pulled him toward the stairs. "Luke, can you please send up pie and ice cream?" she said in a voice guaranteed to make Luke Danes give her the moon, if that's what she asked.

As they went up the stairs, Honor had a revelation. "You promised not to do _his_ nails, but that doesn't mean we couldn't make him do ours!" There was a clatter on the stairs as Jess tried to escape, but he was held fast by both arms...not that he was trying very hard. "They'd come out looking awful, but it would be much more fun!" Jess pulled fake groaning sobs. Both women laughed. _Ah, sweet torture._

Jess indeed ended up sitting between them on the couch through both movies. He'd also popped up for popcorn, and red vines, and Junior Mints, and Skittles, and chocolate of several varieties, and pickles. He'd frowned, squinting at Rory on this one.

"The women of Gilmore descent make pregnant women seem normal," he complained.

"Ha!" she'd mocked. "That's because you know nothing of a pregnant Gilmore woman's cravings! You would tremble! You would-"

"I would get the pickles," he moaned.

As expected, both women bawled through the beginning and ending of '_Up!'_ - well, Rory bawled, Honor sniffed occasionally. Rory required a second box of tissue. If he'd thought that was bad, she didn't seem to really, truly stop crying throughout the entirety of '_An Affair to Remember._' Every once in awhile, when her bawling would redouble, he was forced to look at her incredulously, and exclaim, "That wasn't _sad!_" in a tone of perplexed aggravation, accompanied by a wide gesture with both arms. "Since when did you become such a sap?" Both women looked daggers at him. _Now, I've really done it!_

He paid for his mocking dearly, as, after they'd both made many impassioned points about the importance and cathartic properties of tears, the tender nature of a woman's heart, etc. etc. Rory actually burst into a chorus of '_It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want To'_ that made his ears bleed, and he sat with the heels of his hands pressed into his forehead with a long, continual groan. When Honor joined the song, he actually put his hands to his ears in self defense and pleaded over them, "Can we _PLEASE…WATCH…THE MOVIE?_"

After some giggles over his discomfort, both young women settled down to watch again, and it wasn't long before the waterworks resumed. Jess found himself watching Rory instead of the screen. It certainly wasn't as if he'd never seen it before, and didn't know which painting the artist valued most, what followed the screeching tires, etc. But, instead he found himself puzzling over which parts of Rory had changed and which had stayed the same. It was difficult to tell. She was playing off of Honor the way she'd always played off of Lorelai, but somehow it was different. She was playing a part, now. That much he knew. Granted, she was enjoying playing it, and was… It was contradictory, but she was playing a part while at the same time relaxing and being herself. Maybe that was it. She was playing the role of Rory Gilmore as Rory Gilmore. Or, more accurately, Rory Huntzberger as Rory Gilmore. He sighed quickly. He didn't want to think about this. Much as he groused and complained, he was enjoying this too. It had been an awfully long time since he was able to just sit back and enjoy an evening with Rory. So, he decided to enjoy it. He smiled softly at the tears running silver down her face in the television lit room, even as she reached for the popcorn. And he looked back at the screen.

By the time the movie was over it was late…dark. It was almost pitch black when Rory clicked the television off with the remote. Jess fumbled for a light switch since he was the only one who knew where they were. He came back and sat down in front of the couch and yawned widely, stretching, as the girls chattered about thises and thats, mostly about the movie…the endless debates and what ifs of the plot, Cary Grant's performance the moment he sees the painting in her apartment. Honor cracked several jokes about the hole in Cary Grant's chin, and quoted Audrey Hepburn in _Charade_.

"You know," Jess commented, offhand, "for a Huntzberger, you're not too bad." He smirked.

"Jess!" Rory objected. He tried to mentally count how many times she'd invoked his name in that particular tone during the course of the day. Honor laughed fully.

"No, it's okay. I take it as a compliment. Really!" And Jess grinned, thinking this only confirmed his statement. "Of course, you have to be careful," she warned him, jokingly. "After all, Rory's a Huntzberger too, you know."

"Yeah, but that's only temporary." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He'd said them so casually. The whole conversation had been so casual up until the words had escaped and there was no swallowing them back. He looked at the floor, and his jaw tightened, the silence suffocating him. He had to say something - emergency clean-up. There was a reason he usually kept his mouth shut. His words came out deliberately articulated and rueful. "According to someone who is incredibly presumptuous, remarkably insensitive, and has a knack for putting his foot in his mouth." He looked up. Rory was staring at him, almost through him. It felt like ice. "I'm sorry, Rory. That was completely cruel…and _truly_ none of my business." She nodded vaguely. "Please…" he said softly, mutely begging her to consider it unsaid.

Her eyebrows raised, and she looked at the ground for a moment, her mouth in a small, hard line. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, but without expression or warmth.

"It's okay," she said quietly. Unconvincingly.

"It's my fault!" Honor blurted out. They both looked at her in surprised confusion.

"How's that?" Jess asked, frowning.

"I have absolutely no idea," she admitted wide-eyed, and he smiled looking downward again. It was a nice attempt at a save.

"No…I," he took a breath, "wasn't kidding about being senseless. I can be an awful jerk sometimes." He got quieter, looking at Rory again. "Don't mean to be." His eyes plead with her again. Rory tried to give him a smile. She shook her head.

"It's really okay, Jess." She shrugged. "It was a Freudian-" She gulped and they looked away from one another quickly.

The door opened without a knock and Lorelai came in, taking in the awkward silence in one sweeping glance.

"So, how 'bout them Dodgers, huh? Quite the winning streak they've got going! With the winning…and theeeeeee . . . kids are downstairs," she said finishing off less quippy than she'd started. "Hi, Honor! Nice to see you!" she smiled brightly as she turned to go back down the stairs and stop barging in on…awkward…strange…staring contests…staring at the walls contests… That was really weird. _Remind me not to ask him about that later._

Jess took a deep breath.

"So…um. I should get going." He glanced around, noting the candy wrappers, tissues and other trash littered about and awkwardly bent to gather it as he went. "I've overstayed my welcome. And that…isn't meant to…I just mean it's late. I should…let you get the kids to bed…and…everything." He tripped over a box in his eagerness to be out of the way, dropping the trash he had in his hand and feeling much more foolish than he was accustomed to feeling. Without another word, he picked himself up, found an empty box and gathered most of the trash into it as quickly as he possibly could. "Goodnight. Rory…" he dipped his head, "…Honor." He nodded his head again, preparing to leave the room.

"Goodnight, Jess."

_**A/N: So, any good? Maybe even fun? Any predictions? Gripes? "Oh, that is SO not the way they would have blah, blah, blah"s? 'Cause, those are definitely welcome too. **__**J Anyhow. Till next time… *tips imaginary hat***_


	21. Broken Glass

_**A/N: Okay, last chance to weigh in. I put up a poll on my profile, asking all of you, dear readers, who you think beat Logan up. If this story were more comedy than drama, the answer would be "all of the above." Kicking myself a little for not including that option. Anyhow, if you haven't voted yet, go do that. Put your money where your mouth is *money, what money?* and prove to me that YOU knew all along! **_

_**To those of you who have expressed the sentiment that you only read this story for Rory and Jess interaction, and really don't want to read about everybody else, feel free to skip this chapter. Believe me, I love Literati every bit as much as you do. Truly, I do. But, when I started this story, I promised myself not to take any short-cuts. Everybody gets their turn, and a fair hearing (at least everybody who plays an important role in the story). So *sigh* this chapter is part of keeping that promise to myself.**_

_**Trust me, this story will have lots and lots of interaction between Rory and Jess. But, if I rushed it, the entire meaning of the story would be lost.**_

_**Hope you all enjoy. I didn't hate this chapter nearly as much as I thought I would. I'm actually rather proud of it. So, let me know your opinion. Thanks!**_

_Chapter 21 - Broken Glass_

_The evening before the moving day…_

Logan taped boxes. He'd been filling and taping and labeling boxes throughout most of the day - boxing up the last seven…nearly eight years of his life. Stowing away memories. Packing dreams in newspaper. Encompassing a shared existence in cardboard. The wedding. The albums. Would she even want them? Like everything else, almost everything else, it wasn't just hers. It was his too. It was theirs. What did this mean? Was this a divorce? Was she divorcing him? This was what people did when they got divorced. Everything that had been 'ours' became 'mine' and 'yours.' Everything. A shot of cold fear went through his heart. Would he ever see Trevor or Chase again? Would he _ever_ _see them again? _

"…_the moment_ that you start hurting our children, Logan, I will be _gone_, _WE will be_ _gone, so fast it'll make your head spin! And, don't even BOTHER to ask me to come back!_"

'Mine.' 'Yours.' She wasn't coming back. A judge would decide. A judge would decide whether he would ever see his children again.

"…_the moment_ that you start hurting our children, Logan…"

He didn't deserve to see them again.

Her words…those words… haunted him.

"…_the moment_ that you start hurting our children, Logan…"

If he'd hurt them badly enough for Rory to leave, he didn't deserve to see them again. His mind swirled back into the dark, blankness of that night. He'd tried so hard to remember…to remember something. Something. When he'd cleaned up the glass, there was blood on the floor. He'd told himself that it was his own blood. His foot. He stepped on the glass and it bled. _Please, please tell me it's my blood…just my blood…please…please…_

_Stop. All of this has to be boxed and ready by tomorrow morning. Unless I have a death wish, it has to be boxed up and moved into the garage, and I have to… Unless I have a death wish… unless… I said, stop! Keep packing. Stop thinking. Keep packing. Just keep-_

Pounding. Someone was pounding on the door. It was an _Open in the name of the law!_ kind of pounding. _Did you say something about a death wish?_ He stood and walked to the door anyway. What else was he gonna do?

Death wish or not, he hadn't anticipated a fist crashing through the doorway before he'd gotten the door half open…before he even knew who was- He was on the ground, ears ringing. He was on his feet again, not under his own power, and received another two blows to the face before he could properly register which of his wife's defenders was delivering the beating. Just as it had killed him to hear the condemnation of Richard Gilmore, another small piece of Logan died as he recognized his assailant. The blows were brutal and many, and Logan sank back from them, head almost bowed, fists deliberately at his sides. The man had every right. Every right to finish him off, if it came to that.

Strong hands cuffed him by the collar and brought him close to snarling lips. There were equal amounts pain and rage in Christopher Hayden's eyes.

"_HOW COULD YOU?_" he demanded. "_I thought you loved her! I thought you loved my daughter!_ What kind of _lowlife scum_ beats his wife and kids, huh?" Logan's eyes shut tight and his lips were drawn in tightly concentrated hurt. Clearly, the words were far harder to take than blows, though he argued against neither. "How _long_ have you been hurting them? _How long?_ How long has _my little girl _been getting hit by the man she trusted and loved? Just how much damage have you _done?_ Did it start right after the wedding? Or has it been going on even longer? Did you beat her back when she was just your girlfriend? Back when you were in college, maybe? Just how long have you been making an idiot outta me? How long have I been telling my daughter how _lucky_ she is to have a guy like you who loves her and takes care of her, while you were turning her into a _battered wife?_ _Abusing her? Making her cower in fear? HOW LONG?_"

Logan wanted to tell him that it hadn't been like that. That he'd never done such a thing. That he never would. In his heart, he believed it. He'd never hurt Rory on purpose. He did love her. When he hit her it was when he was out of his head, and when he said he was sorry, he meant it. He meant it. It didn't matter, but he meant it. And, no, it hadn't been going on that long. What _had_ been going on, hadn't been going on long. Not really.

Christopher had unhanded him and he stumbled back several steps, stopping when he hit the wall, crumpling against it. He tried to muster an answer. Some kind of an answer.

His eyes wandered the ceiling, the spectacular golden monstrosity of a ceiling. He heard Rory's little-girl voice exclaiming over it in wonder, "_Have you -seen- this ceiling?_" A large, hollow portion of him wished he'd never brought her into this house. Opulent palace of alcohol and screaming and coldness and pain. He saw the dress she wore to that first dinner in his mind's eye - pale blue, petal soft. Delicate flower. Why did he bring her here to wilt? Better in Stars Hollow's perpetual springtime, Yale's brisk autumn, California's summer sun and salt air. Not these cold, stale, breathless rooms of ice and suffocating winter.

"I never hit Rory till after my dad died." It answered the 'how long.' Nothing could answer the 'how could you.' He knew that. "I won't bother making excuses. There aren't any. I do love her. I don't expect you to believe that. But, I do."

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

_A few hours earlier…_

"Say something, Chris," Lorelai said after a very long silence. "Chris…are you there?" How long has it been since long-distance phone calls ceased to matter? They don't cost more. It just means the person is farther away. It just means that if you hopped in your car, it would take longer to get there. Neither of them was about to hop in their car. Even if some conversations just shouldn't take place on the phone.

"I'm here," he said numbly after a few more seconds. What good did here do, when he hadn't been _there? _Why could he now visualize her as eight years old, in a pink leotard and a tutu, graceful arms above her head, blunt toes tattooing a perfect pirouette? Clearly as if she were standing there in front of him, the soft curve of her ivory and rose petal cheek, the huge crystal blue eyes…those eyes that held all his guilt…always had. The little ballerina with the haunting eyes looked through him as if he wasn't there…because he never had been.

"Chris, you c-"

"How long has this been going on, Lor?" he asked in a husky monotone. His eyes looked like those of a kicked pup, too whipped to even yelp in pain. She couldn't see them, but she could hear those eyes in his voice…see the weak, injured set of his lower lip, know that he was in pain.

"I don't know, Chris. She hasn't…she hasn't wanted to talk about it." He nodded, though she certainly couldn't hear it through the phone. "She did say it was the first time he'd hit one of the kids, though. So, at least…" Silence reclaimed the conversation. Rory was the one thing they could usually talk about, but this was different. This was a fresh wound. This was the unthinkable. "What are you thinking?"

The horse she fell off of when she was ten. She never got back on. The braces put on her teeth when she was twelve, so that everything about her could be as perfect as it always had been, always would be. The spelling bee. She'd wanted him there. The daddy/daughter dance when she was twelve. Snowed in, as if Lorelai would ever believe it. The piano recital. The box of cards marked "return to sender" that she'd carefully saved up until she saw him again.

His eyes shut tight.

"Thinking?" He expelled a breath of air in what was almost a laugh. "Oh, you mean other than ways to dislodge his head from his body, what am I thinking? Well…well, for starters, I'm thinking…what an enormous screw-up I am as a father, along with everything else! That's about what I'm thinking."

"Chris, no!" she tried to stop him from participating in what seemed to be the biggest self-blame-game of the decade.

"Yeah, Lor!" he contradicted. It wasn't enough. All those past failures hadn't added up to enough of a blight on his little girl's existence. Now, when they'd been "good," when he'd been there for her and proven himself in every way that he knew how, for years now - college tuition, following her writing obsessively, popping up unexpectedly at various stops along the campaign trail just to put a smile on her face, visits and phone calls, help with the down payment so they could get the place they wanted in L.A. close to her work and his, hugs and long talks and walks along the beach when he came to see them, making sure he really got to know the kids, no matter the distance...now, he was faced with what could be the worst failure of all.

"Chris, honey, all of us feel like we should have seen this coming, and we should've stopped it somehow. But, really-"

"I pushed this, Lor!" he interrupted in agitation. "This was the guy _I said_ was _really the one!_ I told her she should give him a chance…even if he walked away from her before, it was for the best! His intentions were good! And you know why I said that, Lor? Why I thought that? Because in him, I saw _me!"_

"Chris…"

"I mean, here's a guy who didn't want to become the head honcho of his dad's business, struck out on his own, moved to California, started up his own company, played by his own rules - he stuck it to the man, and _he won!_ _Un_like me, _he_ actually made it! And, he went after Rory Gilmore, the prettiest, most independent, ambitious girl that a man could ever dream of, and he _won_ _there too! _He _got his_ Lorelai…"

"Chris…" It came out softer.

"He got the girl, Lor." Christopher Hayden suddenly sounded absolutely exhausted. "Got her and kept her…" His voice turned almost to a whisper. "He was livin' the dream." He was quiet for a moment. "And it felt like…a little piece of me didn't lose after all." He didn't have to see the other end of the phone to know that she was silently cringing for him.

"And, what does he do?" Christopher continued bitterly. "Drowns himself in booze and starts _hitting my little girl?_…_and their kids?_" His head bowed as these last words came out broken. So did the ones that followed. "Tell me, Lor…'cause you're probably the only one who knows…is that me?"

"What?…Chris, no. Sweetie, what are you talking about? That's crazy!" she exclaimed, incredulous.

"Is it?" His voice was halting. "I don't know anymore."

"Chris. Where is this coming from? Just because you…" Lorelai trailed off, trying to figure out how to pull him off of this damaging, illogical detour his mind had taken. "Just because you liked the guy, just because he _reminded_ you of _you_, doesn't mean…doesn't mean a thing, really! Come on…you wouldn't hurt a fly, Chris! And…_I drink_ more than you do! Don't lay that on yourself - any of it. Because, believe me, Rory would _not_ have married him just because you told her to. She's got her own mind. She always has. I wish I hadn't had to tell you any of this. But, you're her dad, and you need to know."

"Of course. What can I do, Lor? I can't - I can't fix this, but there's gotta be _something_ I can do."

"There is. Tomorrow. She's gonna be moving. Bring your big, strong muscles. Give her a big hug, and help carry her heavy furniture…and her books. Sheesh! She'll need a moving van just for books, I'm sure!" She heard a noise that told her he was smiling a little at this.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll bring the muscles."

"And, stop it with the twisted thoughts." He was quiet. "You equals, nice guy. Logan equals, slime of the earth, jerk faced tarantula!"

"Jerk faced tarantula?" Chris sounded amused.

"Well, Mikey might be listening. If he called somebody a jerk faced tarantula, he wouldn't be in too much trouble," she explained. He laughed a little at this.

"Give Rory and the boys a hug for me tonight," he requested. "I'll give 'em one myself tomorrow."

"Will do."

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

Chris let out a derisive puff through his nostrils that was something close to a laugh, though nothing of his expression expressed laughter…only bitter pain.

"You love her?" He swallowed and looked away from the fallen young hero, somewhere near the foot of the stairs. "That's the way you treat a woman you love?" Logan's eyes closed.

"Look…don't you think I know how _badly I messed up? _Don't you think…I _know…_that I have hurt Rory on every level you can imagine? Don't you think I know that I've completely _wrecked_ my kids' lives? I have nothing left. I've destroyed the trust and respect of everyone that I've ever counted as a friend." He stopped, and Christopher stood their silent. For some seconds they both were silent. "Do you think I didn't fight this?" he asked quietly. "It's taken everything from me." His voice took on an uncharacteristic gravel. "Do you think I didn't fight it with every ounce of strength I had in me?" As the question finished, he seemed to lose whatever strength held him partially upright, laying there on the marble floor, propped slightly against the wall. He went limp in utter defeat.

Christopher looked down at him. There was no remnant of the dignified young man he thought of as his son…not a shred. He was broken. Shambles. He was bleeding profusely from the mouth, and already his left eye had the beginning of what would doubtless be a terrible shiner. Bad as it was, Christopher had been unable to hit him as much as he felt he deserved. There's something about hitting a guy who won't hit back, who stands there cowed as if he knows he has it coming. No matter how angry you are, you just can't keep it up. The same held true for verbal assault…the whole concept of kicking a guy when he's down. And this was about as far down as it got. Again Chris look away, expelling a tense breath without unlocking his jaws.

He strode out of the entryway, past the small mountain of boxes, to the kitchen - soaked a dishcloth in cold water. He came back, crouching down next to Logan beside the ornate wood paneling. He bounced slowly and shallowly on his knees, brow furrowed as if he were deciding something. His tongue worked at the grooves of his teeth as he scanned the face before him. Logan's eyes never met his. Finally, he too glanced at the veins in the floor, seeing wisps of smoke and thinking of a phoenix. When he looked up, Logan was regarding him through narrowed eyes, unsure, and a little afraid. Christopher maintained the intent gaze and held out the cold, wet cloth to his son-in-law whose eyes widened at the gesture. Christopher pointed to the corner of his own mouth, indicating where the blood needed to be sopped up. Logan took the cloth gratefully, though humiliation caused him to look down at the floor as he wiped the blood away and held the cloth to his lip as a compress to stop the bleeding.

"There's nothing I can possibly do to fix this," he stated without looking up from the floor.

Christopher looked around at the wreckage, both literal and symbolic. _He's right. Can't be fixed. Nothing you can do but sweep up the broken glass and keep moving forward,_ he thought. He let out another puff, scoffing at himself and shaking his head. He froze and his eyes snapped up to Logan lying there. He set his jaw and stood up, extending his hand. Logan stared at it with a combination of puzzlement and disbelief. But, after a few long seconds, he accepted the hand and Christopher pulled him to his feet. Immediately afterward, Christopher turned his back and walked from the room. Logan limped behind, following, uncertain. They came to the pile of boxes. Christopher sighed internally, reached down and then handed Logan the packing tape. Logan swallowed and took it.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

By the time all of the boxes were in the garage and a list had been made of what furniture, etc. could be taken from the house, the sun was starting to come up. Neither had stopped to rest all night and neither had spoken. After the last box, Logan stood there, bone-weary.

"That's it," he nodded, hardly more than a whisper. Christopher heaved a sigh. The job was done. Logan looked at him, unable to show how much… what it meant… "Thanks," he said weakly. Chris looked at him for a long moment, eyes eloquent. There were no words. It was a bitter, reluctant goodbye. At last he looked down, contemplated the concrete for a moment, turned and walked away.

_**A/N: I resisted the urge, prompted by a reviewer who commented that Dean left the "moving party" abruptly and perhaps he was on his way to go beat Logan up, to have Dean show up on Logan's doorstep that evening, only to find out that Christopher had "beaten him to the punch"…literally. Firstly, that would have been a little too "punny," and secondly, at this point, I can't honestly say that I think he would. But, if you prefer to believe that's exactly what happened, or even that he threw a few punches of his own, I give you leave to imagine it that way. ;-)**_


	22. Steps Taken

_**A/N: Not long ago, I wrote an entire chapter, read it aloud to my husband, and as I finished, I told him, "I didn't like that nearly as well when I read it as while I was writing it." And, he responded, "Oh, good. 'Cause I didn't like it AT ALL." He went on to explain to me exactly why what was written was OOC for Jess, and he was absolutely right. So I scrapped the whole thing and started over. This is the result. I must say, I'm much more pleased with it this way. I hope you're pleased with it too.**_

_**On a side note, I recently wrote a one-shot entitled: "Waking From a Nightmare." Naturally, as most of my stories are, this one is about Jess. It goes back and explains a piece of his story that is key both in this storyverse and in the Pay the Piper storyverse. I've gotten very little feedback on it, though, and I'm really anxious to now what all of you would think about it. So, as a personal favor, if you wouldn't mind reading it as well and giving me your opinion, I would greatly appreciate it! Thank you!**_

_After 'Up' and 'An Affair to Remember'…_

Lorelai was in her pink, smiley-face and ice cream cone flannel pajamas and her Betty Boop slippers. Her hair hung in slightly mussed ringlets down her shoulders. She tiptoed down the stairs, cringing when they creaked beneath her step. The house was quiet and every sound seemed magnified hundredfold. She told herself that it didn't matter much if she woke Jess. He wouldn't care that she was getting a midnight snack…or a 3 a.m. snack. Whatever it was. He probably wouldn't even tell Luke. He might even join her. She still crinkled her nose and cursed her clumsiness when her elbow knocked against the banister loudly. Then again, part of that was because of the sensation of electric shock that jolted down her arm to her fingertips. The sound prompted an abrupt movement from the room below. But, she was surprised to see that it wasn't from a sleeping Jess. He was up. He was dressed. He was…

Lorelai felt a cold tightness in the pit of her stomach. The young man downstairs, her nephew, clean-cut and responsible and mature and reliable and… He stood there with his duffel bag on the couch, cinching it shut with a guilty look on his face. He was sneaking off in the middle of the night.

It wasn't that serious. Really, it wasn't. He never said how long he intended to stay. She'd only presumed he was going to stick around, be close at hand while Rory got settled into her new place, new routine, be right there just in case he was needed. He never said it. Not in so many words. So, why did Lorelai get the sudden, hair standing up on the back of her neck sensation, and the feeling that she was seeing him suddenly revert to the scared nearly-eighteen-year-old who had packed his bags and left for California without a word to anyone? Maybe it was because the look on his face said that he was scared, said that he was running away, said that he felt guilty about it, and guiltier for being caught, cringing at the thoughts that had to be running through her head, the parallels, the déjà vu.

She gave a deep, disappointed sigh. His eyes broke from hers, faltering, and his lungs filled with a returned sigh that seemed to get stuck inside of him, his head bowed just a touch, and he looked up. Lorelai knew in that moment why her daughter had never been able to stay mad at him for long. He looked like such a little boy. That look in his eyes. Penitent. Waiting.

"What are you doing, Jess?" It was a stupid question. There was no possible way that she could mistake the packed bag, the shoes on, the jacket. He bit his lips together.

"I gotta get back," he murmured, as if he knew this explanation didn't hold water. I mean, sure, he had his own life, his own home, his business to run, his writing to do…everything. But, barring some unfathomable emergency, there was no reason that any of these things were so pressing that they necessitated a pre-dawn flight from Stars Hollow.

"Jess…" The word was disbelief and sadness and a strange near sympathy that seemed completely displaced. Somewhere in the word was _'how could you?'_ and that killed him worse than anything else could have.

"I have to go, Lorelai." It was still soft, yielding, but this time his words, although apologetic, held a firmness, a _'this is simply the way things have to be.' _She didn't answer with words. Her eyes respected his reasons, whatever they were. That only made it worse. "Don't ask me why."

"I didn't."

"It's only Hartford." She nodded and sniffed quickly. "If she needs anything, I can be here in twenty minutes." She nodded again. "I'm going to leave her a note." Lorelai's head tilted at this one and her eyebrows raised in an _I guess that's something_ kind of way. "I was gonna leave you one too."

"What's going on, Jess?" He stiffened, expression just south of annoyed. It was only then that she realized that she was essentially asking the exact question he'd just asked her not to. She couldn't help it, though.

"If I stick around, I'm not helping anything. I'm just making things more complicated." Her expression belied this, drawing back in a grimace, with a shake of the head.

"Complicated?"

"I _don't_ need to be hanging around, looking like a lousy, rotten vulture!" The words weren't spoken loudly or sharply, but his eyes squinted and his voice had a tinge of a gravelly sneer. Lorelai's eyes widened.

"A vul-" She stopped, catching his meaning and closed her eyes, her mouth hardening and twitching just a little as she shifted her feet, drawing them as close together as her slippers would allow, arms folding across her torso. "You really think that's what people are gonna think?" Jess exhaled a small smile that wasn't a smile and rested his eyes on the couch for a moment, biting the edge of his lip.

"Pretty sure that's what Rory already thinks…which is my fault. I stuck my foot in my mouth, said something I didn't mean to, she invoked Freud, and voila! Instant jerk." There was only a drop of bitterness in the account, which anyone who knew Jess Mariano would realize was reserved for himself alone.

"You mean all of this is because of a simple misunderstanding? I'm sure all you'd have to do is-" Jess cut her off precipitously.

"If _Rory _can misunderstand-" he bit his lips together and threw his hands up. "This is Stars Hollow, Lorelai! All it takes is _one_ person adding two and two together and coming up with five, for half the town to think that we were sleeping together and that's the reason Rory's marriage is falling apart. And from there, the argument starts over whether or not Logan was really mistreating her, and if he was, whether she was partly to blame. I _will not do that to her!_" He pressed his lips together. "That would destroy her right now!"

Lorelai's eyes filled with understanding and concern, resting behind Jess, off somewhere in space. She sighed quickly. "Does Rory know why you're leaving? Does the note explain all that?"

"I…don't live here. I never said I was staying in town beyond a couple of days. I'm not gonna drop off the face of the earth! I'll be in touch. If I explained, _that_ would complicate things." Why did what he was saying have to make sense?

"But, why are you leaving in the middle of the night? Couldn't you at least stick around and say goodbye to Luke and the kids?" she asked, knowing Luke would be disappointed to find him gone. Jess' pained expression explained more than his words though. It made sense. If he stayed till morning, he was afraid he'd lose his nerve, afraid he'd talk himself out of leaving. He didn't _want_ to go. "Never mind, I'll…I'll say goodbye to them for you," she volunteered, and she could see that he was surprised and a little touched that he didn't have to explain.

"Could you maybe not mention…what time…" he paused, not wanting to ask her to lie, but not wanting everyone else to get the same impression she had.

"You just got up a little early, wanted to get a jump on the day," she shrugged, smiling at him. Her explanation put a grateful half-smile on his face.

"Thanks," he breathed, chin dipping forward a bit in a mannerism Lorelai had long noticed he shared with his uncle. Her smile softened and she stepped forward to hug him goodbye. He returned the hug, glad for the understanding she showed him.

He stepped back, shouldering his bag with a sigh. "I'll see you soon." She nodded, and he turned to go, but when he reached the door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, halting without turning around. "Lorelai…" He stood there another five seconds before half turning to her again. "You'll call me if…" His eyes closed and he slowly turned away from the door. "She might start flipping out…soon. You'd call me, right?" Lorelai was speechless for a moment.

"What?" What was he saying? Why would he predict this? Rory, he meant Rory, and he was saying…what was he saying?

"Grieving…it can get messy sometimes. She might not call. She probably won't. No matter what, I wanna be there. I need to be there. You'd call me, right?" he was asking for reassurance, but at the moment he'd just given Lorelai a need for the same.

"How do you know what she might do, Jess? Where are you getting this?" she asked urgently, drawing back from him without meaning to on a conscious level. She wanted to believe this was over. She knew it wasn't, but he tore her out of the comforting cocoon of denial.

His jaw tightened and his lips with it, something in his eyes growing hard. His voice came out compressed and small, sounding like fragments of iron. "It's not the first time I've seen something like this." There was a warning in his eyes not to inquire after the details. He swallowed the iron and his eyes took on a faraway haze, but Lorelai needed him here and now.

"You said she'd flip out-" Her voice recalled him to the present with jarring suddenness.

"Might," he corrected.

"Still…" She looked at him with an unspoken question. He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

"I don't know that much. I just…I've seen it, and…" He shook his head rapidly. "…it might just be a matter of being kinda jumpy, or crying a lot…but it can be worse sometimes. I'm not…I'm not trying to scare you or tell you that any of it is _going to happen_-I just…" He took a short, painful sigh. "I need to know if it _does._ I need to know she's okay, or if she's not. I don't want to get a call and find out something else has happened to her, when I could've…" His voice got more broken as he continued and finally trailed off altogether. His face, his voice, his words betrayed the war that was going on inside of him, wanting so badly to stay where he could keep an eye on her, knowing it would be better for her if he left. "Please, promise me-"

"I'll tell you absolutely anything that happens, Jess," she assured him. He gasped something between a laugh and a sob.

"I'm sorry," he told her, as if his concern was some sort of a burden for her. Lorelai's hand reached forward almost involuntarily, covering his.

"Don't." She smiled at him sadly. "Don't be sorry. We'll make sure she's okay. Together. We'll do it together, all right?" Her voice was broken, but hopeful. He sighed with relief, leaning back against the door.

"Okay. Thank you… Thank you." Downward along his mouth and chin his hand wiped in a wearied "v" shape, as if it could wipe the strain from his face as he drew another deep breath and then rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. Lorelai could almost see him willing himself to go…and to stay…and to _go._

"It's okay, Jess." Her hand reached forward to his shoulder, strengthening him with her touch, her fingertips smooth against the soft leather. "It's okay. Just go. It'll be fine." Jess nodded, turning determinedly toward the door again, speaking to her without turning back.

"Thank you, Lorelai… Bye." And, he opened the door, leaving quickly and closing it behind him. Lorelai allowed herself to go limp, with her head against the coolness of the cream colored paint of the door, next to the frosted glass. A faint smile crossed her weary lips. It was such a silly thing. But she wished he didn't have to go, if only because she really would rather have sat with him at the counter insulting one another over milk and cookies.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

It was almost dawn. He knew he would have to hurry. It wouldn't do any good if somebody saw him. In fact, it would defeat his entire purpose in leaving. Fingers fumbled for the key above the door. Footsteps silent on the stair, up and down. Almost at the door when he had the eerie familiar feeling of a pair of eyes upon him. Here in the empty diner. Eyes.

"How long have you been in love with her?" Even in the shadows, how had he missed her sitting there?

"Drop it," he told Honor coldly.

"Why?" Her tone wasn't exactly cozy either.

"She is still…your brother's…wife," he said slowly and distinctly, turning slowly to face her in the strange half-light.

"I'm very well aware of the fact." Her voice betrayed nothing. He was sick through. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

"So am I." His words were hard as stone. There couldn't be any question on this fact.

"Good to know." She paused. "That still doesn't answer my question." _I said, drop it. I meant, drop it. Now, drop it!_

"Quite true," he replied levelly.

"Well?" She sounded so cavalier. He knew it was an act, but she passed the question off as if she were mildly amused.

"None of your business." No wasted words.

"So, you _are_ in love with her." She inferred like a stealthy cat pouncing upon a mouse.

"None of your business." No admissions.

"If that's the way you want it." Deceptively mild. Not malicious, though. He was fairly certain. Protective, but not malicious.

Jess raised his eyebrows and gave a half-nod that said clearer than words, _Um…yeah! _It was certainly 'the way he wanted it.'

"Well then," she said melodically, her gaze taking in his traveling clothes and over-the-shoulder duffel bag, "It's been a pleasure, Jess Mariano." Jess nodded shallowly and then looked at her sidelong.

"Likewise." He meant it. He was nearly sure he meant it. As long as she did.

He shifted the weight of his duffel more firmly onto his shoulder, scratched the bridge of his nose for a moment with his other hand, and then tipped her a farewell nod. The door jingled open and shut.

…-x*x-x*x-x*x-…

Honor mounted the stairs. He hadn't entered the apartment, so what was he doing there on the landing? She flipped her phone open and used it as a flashlight. It didn't take long to locate the slip of paper stuck in the door. Tapered fingers snatched it and she hurried with feline quietness down the stairs, into the storage room where she could turn on a light. The paper crinkled as she fumbled to open it quickly, her eagerness only slowing her down. She was only doing this in Rory's best interest, she told herself. She wasn't naturally a snoop. There were just some things that required a certain level of investigation in order to…

She scanned the paper's contents. It relieved her to see that it actually was neither addressed nor signed, so technically, she wasn't doing anything illegal. Not exactly. The note could have just as easily have been for her…if she hadn't seen it delivered. She dismissed the moral complexity of the issue as a nonessential.

It contained very few words, just as the man himself. It read as follows:

"Temporary" was crossed out and replaced with the word: "Incidental"

Gilmore = blue eyes, coffee addiction, million words per second, infectious smile/laugh, telepathic powers, generous heart, mind-boggling metabolism, fierce independence/determination.

Huntzberger = What it says on the marriage license.

After this, she could see indentations in the paper where he'd written, "Mariano = " and erased it, after which the paper had been scrubbed by ten thousand erasures until it was nearly worn through. Below that it had said " = hurting you" but before it the paper hadn't been written on at all…as if he could find no correlation to this thought whatsoever. In the end, all of this had been erased, and written a tiny space below it, where the paper was unmarred, were just two words.

I'm sorry.

Honor heaved a slow, steady breath, releasing the worry that had been wracking her for a good portion of the evening, holding the small, white scrap of paper to her chest. She swallowed and allowed herself to smile.

"Yes, Mr. Mariano," she whispered to empty room, "It has indeed been a pleasure."

She crept quietly upstairs, slipped into the apartment, carefully replaced the note in the doorjamb, and eased herself onto the sheets and blankets assembled for her on the couch.

_**A/N: Pretty reviews, please? What do you make of it all? What did you like? What did you notice? What did you dislike? See all of you soon with the next chapter. :-)**_


	23. Really Good Kid

_**A/N: More Jess and Rory interaction coming soon, I promise. All of this is setting it up, and several readers have said, and rightly so, that the children deserve a bit more of our attention. Also, that the one person who would truly understand what little Trevor is going through, really ought to lend him a hand.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_The morning of the big move…_

A combination of things conspired to keep Jess at Luke and Lorelai's for the first portion of that morning. Firstly, Lorleai, Rory and Lane were going to be up in the apartment, clearing things away and cleaning to make the space ready for all of Rory's things. He had a feeling that it would be hard on Rory to spend time with him today, considering all of the implications of what was going on. It was better at this phase of events for her to just have Lorelai and Lane at her side. Secondly, the rest of the 'crew' was headed over to the Huntzberger mansion first thing in the morning. Now, Jess certainly intended to help out in every way possible today, but if there was any chance _at all_ that _Logan hadn't_ cleared out, there was no way Jess trusted himself within a ten mile radius. Luke might beat the guy senseless, but Jess was honestly afraid of what he might do. Besides, just thinking of going into that place and knowing it was where Rory and the kids had been hurt like that, made him feel like his insides were rotting out. Thirdly, with Lane helping Rory get the apartment cleaned out, and Lulu needing to press Kirk's uniform and get him fully outfitted for his expedition of reconnaissance with Taylor, Liz was going to end up taking care of the children on her own for those first two or three hours. Now, Jess loved his mother, and she really had come a long way, but, much as he wouldn't admit it, leaving children in her sole care still scared the living daylights out of him. It was easy enough with that many children and so little help, for him to convince all concerned that it would be better if he stuck around, just until Lulu and Lane came, to _give her a hand._

So far, things were going pretty well. The only screaming that had taken place was when Mikey got a little too enthusiastic in the sandbox, and sand had gotten into Chase's eyes. It was quickly and easily rinsed out, but the toddler was sniffly and needed to be cuddled for about fifteen minutes afterwards.

Liz was setting up a craft table one-handed with a sleepy Tony on her hip, and Jess sat on the back steps with half-an-eye on a book, jointly monitoring the playground activities of the dozen or so children in the yard, ready to spring into action the moment required. The kids were noisy, but that was a given. As long as it was a happy noise, and things didn't suddenly go quiet, there was no reason for concern.

Jess felt a shift in things, cued by odd movement in his peripheral vision and a slight shift in that happy noise. Looking up, he saw a tense circle forming with Doula and Trevor squaring off more or less in the middle of it. _Trouble. _He didn't hear the beginning of the conversation and didn't immediately get in the middle of things because he wasn't sure what was going on. He tended to let kids work things out on their own if at all possible, but with the storm clouds that appeared to be brewing here, he wasn't sure it would be possible. He set the book down on the steps and watched, leaning forward and straining to listen without standing up…_yet._

"Nuh-_uh!_" Trevor responded eloquently to whatever had been said.

"Our mom said your dad did bad things to you and to Rory!" Doula challenged. Jess' eyes shot to Liz, and his mouth hung open. Of _all _people, _she_ should-

"_Did not!_" the little boy defended stoutly. Liz froze, Tony fussing in her arms, and stared back, deer-in-the-headlights, and wounded by the accusation in his eyes that melted into disappointment and then something like confusion. His mouth closed.

"Well, then what happened to your hands and your face?" Doula asked, in a tone reserved for liars. Liz turned away, hiding her face in Tony's sleeve. Jess closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, head bowed.

"I fell down! I broke glass on the floor, an' I fell down an' my hands got cut!" Trevor snapped back, his blue eyes flashing. Jess looked back up at the children, cringing at Trevor's defense. Kids didn't usually learn to cover things like that up until they were older. He wondered what made Trevor different in this respect. Nobody would've told him to say that. So, why would he?

"Well, that was dumb!" six-year-old Ingrid piped in, her dark straight hair in two tails, her dark freckles like pepper across her Danes nose. Jess rolled his eyes at children's incredible _tact._

"I didn't fall down on purpose!" Trevor insisted, as if this should have been obvious. Jess debated the wisdom of letting them work this out on their own.

"I thought your dad pushed you," seven-year-old Kate observed gently, but unhelpfully. She was generally the peacemaker. _Yeah, working it out on their own, not such a good idea right now._

"He didn't! He didn't! I fell!" Trevor began to yell, stubborn, injured tears forming in his eyes.

"But-" Kate began. Jess strolled, albeit quickly to Trevor's side, looking at Kate, though he knew she hadn't intentionally instigated anything, and had actually been kinder than the others. He looked at Kate, but addressed all of them.

"Cut it out," he instructed with quiet firmness. "Leave him alone."

"But, he-" Ingrid began, but a slight raise of Jess' eyebrows convinced her that it was better to shut her mouth and walk away. Doula, on the other hand, though she'd halted her verbal assault, she stood there with her arms folded and an expression that said she was merely biding her time. Ingrid may have been dissuaded by eyebrows. Doula required stronger measures. Jess took her firmly by the shoulder and led her deliberately away from Trevor.

"You're old enough to know better than to pick on a little kid," he scolded, sternly. "Do _not_ ask him about any of that again. Do you understand me?" She held a sour expression and kept her eyes on the house, silent. He raised her chin until she had no choice but to look in his eyes. "Do you understand me?" he repeated distinctly. She gave a little toss of the shoulders and bobbed her head in feigned agreement. Jess bit his lips together and his head lowered while his eyebrows raised still further, glaring. His voice lowered almost to a whisper and he spoke each syllable slowly. "You mess with him again, and I'll make sure you spend the rest of the day with Mama Kim… Do you understand _this time?_" he warned darkly. The girl swallowed and nodded rapidly, her brother having threatened what was probably the most dire punishment imaginable to a child as untamed as she was. Jess maintained eye contact as he backed away, the look clearly, _don't test me._

Once he turned back around, wanting to make sure Trevor was alright, the boy was nowhere to be seen. _Great._ He turned to Kate. She was more or less a little mother when it came to the other children.

"Where's Trevor?" he asked in a tone of muted urgency.

"Up in the tree house," Kate pointed. Jess nodded, rumpling the girl's soft hair for a moment, the action almost absent minded, as he looked up at the tree house. He took a deep breath and walked over to where boards met bark, grabbed hold of the handles on either side and hoisted himself up the short ladder. He stopped as the floorboards of the tree house were level with his chin. Trevor was huddled in the corner, the cool, swaying shadows of the and the branches and the leaves dappling the floor in front of him, the sturdy shadow of the roof almost hiding the boy completely, particularly when in set stark relief against the bright morning sunshine.

Arms curled around knees, eyes boring new holes into the wall in front of him. Most adults would call it sulking. Jess recalled vividly sitting in the same posture as a school nurse and counselor tried to coax him out of a corner to question him about the teeth-marks on his wrist. He wouldn't know till years later that they were a telltale sign school personnel were instructed to look for indicating probable abuse. Jess ached at the familiarity of the pose, and his eyes twitched away, drifting to the sturdy, sheltering structure of the small tree house, his heart taking in the love that it represented. For a wisp of a second, he thought longingly of what it would have meant to him to have such a place when he was a child. The next, he reprimanded himself. Luke had _been_ that structure. He only wished he could have _always_ had him close enough to run to when he needed him most. Jess swallowed. Trevor didn't look up, he didn't have to.

"_Go away!_" It was supposed to be fierce, but his voice was too little and betrayed him by breaking off raw at the end. Jess looked down at his feet, understanding, and then back up at the little boy who kept his eyes stubbornly on the wall.

"Do you really want me to?" he asked with a gentle firmness. He knew that if the boy actually wanted him to leave, his answer, whatever it was, would be screamed, so he deduced from the boy's silence he was granting him entry…cautious entry. He crawled in and was half folded into sitting Indian-style beside the boy when the little voice rang out once again, in pained anger.

"_My daddy is NOT a bad man!_" Jess settled himself slowly, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together loosely. He pressed his lips together with a quiet slow breath. His mind dipped into a few dark corners that he didn't usually allow it to enter, reminding himself of the true depths of horror he'd experienced with Liz, and still excused her because 'she couldn't help it.'

"Of course not. Never said he was," he replied carefully.

"Well, he's_ not!_" From the little boy's tremulous tone, Jess was surprised that the tears hadn't spilled over yet…or at least weren't steady. "I yelled, and I broke things…" Jess' eyebrows drew together thoughtfully as he scratched the back of one hand with the other. He didn't know how well he could bear these kind of excuses for the cuts and bruises on his four-year-old body. He hated where this was going, but he nodded slowly, knowing it was better to let the kid take the conversation where _he_ needed it to go. He gradually scraped his teeth across his bottom lip, trying to decide whether it was wise to say anything at all.

"What happened next?" he asked the little boy, keeping his eyes on him intently without turning to face him, so the little boy wouldn't feel scrutinized. He knew he was breaking one of the cardinal rules in a case like this. You weren't supposed to ask a child directly about abuse, but he wasn't sure how to be indirect under the circumstances. Every alternative he could think of would have been worse. Trevor didn't answer right away. In fact, he didn't answer at all. He didn't address the question.

"I was bad," he murmured softly, a catch in his throat, like a record that was broken and stuck on one note of a song. Jess squeezed his hands together to keep them from doing anything else. Tempting as it was to hit something or throw something, that was anything but an option. And he honestly didn't so much want to do that, as he wanted to draw his hands down his face in a way that would have revealed his emotions far more clearly than it would have been healthy to let the little boy see.

"It _wasn't_ your fault," he said gently. He couldn't be sure what the little boy was blaming himself for. His dad hitting him? Drinking? Hitting his mom? Leaving his dad and coming here? All of the above? He was clearly blaming himself for something, though. Something that shouldn't be on a little kid's shoulders.

Tears started to fall down soft cheeks, quiet sniffled tears gradually got louder.

"_I…wanna go home…I want my daddy…I want my daddy…He's not a bad man…I was bad an', an' …I wanna go home an' I can't! I ca-a-aa…n't!_" As the boy sobbed, Jess took him in his arms, folding him into a tight hug against a heart that was breaking for the kid, tearing open wounds he'd mended so long ago.

Most people would have shushed the kid…lovingly…benevolently, but shushed him just the same. They would have told him that everything was going to be alright. With the things Jess had seen and lived, he couldn't. He wanted to. But he couldn't. He just held the little boy tightly and let him cry it all out.

When the sobs finally slowed and then stopped, when the boy's breathing had almost returned to a regular, soft rhythm, Jess released him from the vice-like hug, pulling the small shoulders back a bit so he could look into the little boy's uncannily blue eyes. This was all he did for about thirty seconds. It cut him to see such pain in eyes that were Lorelai-blue. But he willed himself to see past this, to make this better. Gradually he coaxed himself into a smile. It wasn't easy, but it was genuine.

"Let me tell you something." Trevor looked at him steadily. "Whatever caused the bruises on your face, and your cut hands…and whatever made it so that you and your mom and your brother had to leave your house and run here…it _shouldn't have happened_," he told the little boy seriously. He couldn't leave any doubt on that score. "But, it was _not_ your fault. And, it wasn't your mom's fault." He sighed slowly. "And it probably…wasn't really your dad's fault either." If anybody but Trevor had heard him say these words, no stronger proof of just how much Jess cared about this little boy would ever be necessary. He wasn't lying, but it was a truth that scorched him coming out, and he had to really stretch for that 'probably.' Trevor needed it to be 'probably.' Even as he absolved him with his words, somewhere in his mind, Jess had his hands around Logan's throat. He tried to wrench the thought from his mind. He had to draw the correlation to Liz. Her throat, not Logan's. The hands in his mind released their sinewy grasp, suddenly ashamed of themselves. _Probably not his fault._

The little boy looked confused though.

"Whose fault is it?" he asked. Children always ask the questions that are the hardest to answer. Jess swallowed.

"I don't know," he admitted. His mind reached back to an illustration he'd heard about abuse and dominoes, that really was a good way of explaining it to kids, but you really needed to have dominoes there for it to make sense. "But I need you to know…really, _truly_ know…_it ISN'T yours._" He looked Trevor in the eye very deliberately, and the blue eyes looking back at him didn't argue. That much was a relief. Jess sighed slowly, and tipped his head to one side, changing tone to something much warmer and quite a bit more casual.

"You know? I think you're really brave." Trevor's eyebrows drew together, wondering what he meant.

"Why?" The eternal question. Jess smiled at it before continuing.

"Because it's really scary…when things hurt…and especially when your mom is hurt and scared. It's really scary and hard…to be there and help her - to go new places, especially when you don't want to." He nodded quickly and deliberately, sticking out his lower lip, hiding how hard it was for him to talk about any of this. "When I was about as old as you are now, there were a lot of bad, scary things that…that happened. I…didn't have a dad. It was just me and my mom. And I remember how hard it was. I remember trying to help. And I remember being scared." The sigh that coursed through his lungs shuddered a little. He put a hand on the little boy's shoulder with a look of understanding. "I know how brave you are," he told Trevor slowly, allowing the words to sink in.

Trevor's eyes were wide, and for about three seconds he just stared, but all of a sudden, he flew forward, the impact jarring Jess' chest as the little arms flung themselves around him, clinging. The rapidness startled Jess. And it wasn't that a hug was… he _might_ have expected it, but… the impetuous gratitude floored him just a little. Truth be told, it almost frightened him. He told himself that it should be a relief. And, on an intellectual level, it was. He was pretty sure it meant the kid would be alright, given time, that if he was helped now, he might really, actually be okay. Jess couldn't pinpoint what part of him was scared by it. Or why. He only knew that whatever it was, it wasn't Trevor, it was him - and he shouldn't let it dampen how the little boy's affection was received. So, he consciously breathed deep and found warmth and wrapped it around Trevor, returning the hug securely. In doing so, that fear compressed to the size of a pin in the center of his heart, cold and twice as sharp, but he tried to ignore it and focus on the hug, and the tree house, and this moment.

As the hug ended, Jess had a little trouble with his lips, and his throat, and his lungs weren't quite behaving properly. Once he got things under control, though, he looked at Trevor, blinking a little more rapidly than usual.

"You're a good kid." He took him gently by the chin. "A _really_ good kid." _He needs to _know_ that! He needs to _believe_ it! He needs…_ A thought occurred to him. _Aw, jeez, that's cheesy! Really cheesy!…Just might work though. And, what's it gonna hurt?_

"You need to know that. And you need to tell yourself that." The little boy's head drew back in puzzlement. _See! Even the kid thinks it's cheesy! Stop making excuses. Keep going._ He glowered at the mental tyrant.

"Come on, say it with me: I'm…" he modeled.

"I'm…" Trevor obeyed hesitantly.

"…a really…"

"…a really…"

"…good…"

"…good…"

"…kid."

"…kid." Jess smiled a little as Trevor finished.

"Okay, now, you say it this time, all by yourself," he encouraged, feeling a little less cheesy about it since Trevor didn't look quite so tearful. He looked self-conscious, and even at age four, maybe a little silly, but it was still a good thing. Trevor took a big breath, and his shoulders shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm…a really good kid," he said rapidly as if he were trying to get it over with. He looked at Jess for approval.

"Good. Again, louder," Jess directed.

"I'm a really. Good. Kid." It came out more confidently and Jess' eyes smiled, his lips followed shortly thereafter.

"Okay, one more time. This time with a smile." He hoped he wasn't asking too much, but a second later a grin flashed across the little boy's face and something caught in Jess' throat again.

"I'm a really good kid!" Jess grinned and choked up at the same time.

"Very, very good!" he assured him, drawing the little boy toward him for another quick, rough hug, where he wouldn't see his step-cousin-once-removed dab the corners of his eyes hastily with his sleeve. "Now, let's go down and see what kind of crayon, glue, scissors and ribbon kind of wackiness your grandma…cousin…aunt…" _Why_ couldn't he remember what mixed-up relation his mother was to Trevor? "…great aunt…step great aunt," _Yeah, that was it!_ "has cooked up for all of you!"

"Auntie Liz?" Trevor confirmed in a confused tone. _Why do I always overcomplicate things?_

"Yeah, that's the one!" he laughed and tweaked the kid's ear in a harmless teasing gesture. Trevor batted his hand away, but he was smiling. He could hear from the commotion below that Lulu and Lane had arrived with more munchkins in toe, which meant Liz wouldn't be alone with the kids, and everybody was probably over at Luke's with the boxes. He still wished he could stay and keep an eye on Trevor, but he knew he was needed elsewhere. He bit his lip. Lane. He'd put a bug in Lane's ear to dote on the kid a bit, and specially keep an eye on how the other kids treated him. She'd probably already know that, but he'd feel better having said it. Besides, he ought to let her know about the warning he'd given Doula. He had no doubt she'd enforce it, and had a hunch she'd appreciate the irony.

_**A/N: If you've enjoyed this chapter, please drop me a note in the nice little review box to let me know what you liked about it. Thank you.**_


	24. ChocolateChip Pancakes, an Iguana and a

_**A/N: At last, an update! Thank you, thank you, thank you, to all my lovely reviewers who keep reminding me that there are people waiting like Oliver Twist standing in line saying, "Please, sir…I want some more." Don't despair, I've far from forgotten this story. It hasn't left my mind. I've been reading it and re-reading it, and working rather feverishly on the chapter that follows this one, which couldn't seem to please my beloved editor if it's life depended on it…and I still can't seem to finish the blamed thing! Ever try to write Shira Huntzberger? I don't know what that woman talks about! Even when I KNOW what I want her to talk about, I can't for the life of me seem to make her talk. I'm having the same problem with Emily Gilmore! It's ridiculous! These women are trying to kill me! And to keep this story from ever getting finished! Why does it have to be an important scene? Why? Anybody want to help me? Anybody? Please? Anybody feel up to the task?**_

_**Anyhow, finally, a chapter. I feel as if writing lately is like giving birth…at least from the perspective of someone who's never given birth. Aaaaannnd, I just had a flashback to Taylor's horrifying "Bon Voyage" speech! XD**_

_**I'm going to stop now. Enjoy chapter, beautiful peoples. Enjoy.**_

_Chapter 24 - Chocolate-Chip Pancakes, an Iguana and a Cocker Spaniel_

(_The day after "Up" and "An Affair to Remember.")_

Rory knocked. If felt strange to knock on her own front door in broad daylight. Granted, it hadn't been her front door, her house, for many years, but still. It would always be strange. It was stranger still when no one answered her knocking. Should she just open the door and go in? She tried the handle. It was locked. Of course it was locked. If no one was coming to the door, it probably meant that no one was home. Her mother was probably at work, and she'd seen that Luke was at the diner before she left. Luke was there. Jess was not. The kids would be in school. So, if Jess wasn't here, then… She sighed and set off walking toward the center of town, past the gazebo, near the school. She sighed as she looked across the empty bridge. Andrew's bookstore was likewise unfruitful, other than being there to retrieve Andrew's crutches for him, as he'd somehow hopped and hobbled his way clear to the other end of the store without them, shelving new arrivals, but suddenly found the trek back…a bit too exhausting. Andrew looked at Rory a little oddly as her browsing was a bit more absent than usual, she clutched a piece of paper in her hand but looked as if she was half trying to hide it, and she forgot to make inquiry after the books she'd ordered. She realized that mistake a second after she'd exited the shop with a weak smile…but it was too late. If she poked her head in again and asked about the books, she would only seem more absent-minded and suspicious. Rory frowned. She wouldn't go poking around Liz and TJ's. That would just be humiliating. Deep sigh. Back to the diner.

He wouldn't come by the diner. If he was coming by the diner, he wouldn't have left a note. She felt inexplicably frustrated with herself. How was she supposed to accept his apology if she couldn't _find_ him? Why did he feel the need to apologize again? He'd already apologized the night before, pretty profusely. Then again, that was Jess. He'd never been one to forgive himself for anything.

Rory walked into the diner, her thoughts still clouded over. Making her way toward the stairs, she almost collided with Lane, who had two trays of empty dishes and pulled off a remarkable spin to avoid Rory's determined-walk.

"Whoa! Nearly decimated by Hurricane Gilmore!" She glanced at Rory's face. "What's going on?"

Rory glanced around at the tables full of faces most of which bore expressions of curiosity piqued by Lane's question. "Oh, nothing," she said at a normal volume, then nonchalantly turned her head away from the general population and whispered to Lane, "Have you seen Jess? Or do you know where he is?"

Lane shrugged and turned her face away from the general population of the diner also. "Haven't seen him. Why are we whispering about Jess?"

"Because people in this town are starved for entertainment. I'd rather not have me looking for Jess turn up in the Stars Hollow Gazette, page five."

"Oh, I think it'd be page one. Kirk and Miss Patty are looking for him too, and Babbette's keeping an eye out."

"What? Why?" Rory whispered, a little louder than she meant to, and then smiled wanly at Gypsy and Tom who were sitting nearest.

"Because, apparently, nobody's seen him," Lane answered, still whispering.

"So what?"

"So…Jess not being seen is the most interesting that's happened all day. Complete lull. There's got to be something to gossip about. So…speculating on Jess holing himself up in Luke and Lorelai's house, writing another book…or um…somebody said they saw him go up to your apartment with you and another woman, yesterday afternoon, but never saw him come down…"

"Oh, good grief!" Rory groaned quietly.

"Did I mention there's a lull?" Lane said, smiling at Rory with a sympathetically pained smile. "By the way, who was the other woman?"

"Lane!" Rory complained, raising the whisper to a quiet whine.

"_Well_," Lane shrugged, helplessly defending her own curiosity, and then added in a whisper hiss, "at least I didn't ask what Jess was doing for hours up in your apartment!"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Nothing. We watched movies and ate junk food - tried to forget my life sucks, Honor's life sucks, everybody's life sucks!" She sighed, disgruntled that she couldn't even watch movies with friends without the whole town getting nosy. She should have been used to it having lived her whole life this way, but…being a private person in an everybody-has-to-know-everything town wasn't always easy.

"Oh…so, it was Honor?" Lane deduced.

Rory nodded, relinquishing the detail her best friend had actually asked for.

"Oh…" Lane paused. "Weird group."

Rory shrugged. She glanced around again. "People are staring."

"Well…we _have _been whispering for awhile."

"Which _must_ mean something."

"Do you ever _miss_ California?" Lane joked. Rory smiled painfully and Lane cringed. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Rory shifted her weight from one foot to the other and glanced around one last time, lips puckered to one side, feeling the oppressive curiosity of the room wash over her. "Going upstairs."

Lane nodded, shifting the trays to keep her grip on them. "Good plan."

The door opened at the top of the narrow stairwell when Rory was about halfway up the steps. The boys each held one of Honor's hands and the trio were smiling. Rory looked up expectantly, cheered by the sight of her boys looking so happy.

"Aha! The sojourner has returned! We were about to call out a search party," Honor teased.

"Sorry," Rory returned, and bit her lip with a squint and cringe.

"No, you're fine," her sister in law assured her. "Actually, Trevor was just telling me that his grandpa makes the very best chocolate-chip pancakes in the whole wide world. And I told him that I couldn't just take his word. I'd have to taste for myself before conceding them to be the _very_ best in the _whole_ world… Wanna join us?" she grinned.

"Um… In a few minutes. I have a couple more things I need to take care of first. But, you guys go on ahead. Order some for me, 'cause Luke stops serving breakfast in less than half an hour, I don't want to miss out on pancakes!"

"Okay. Anything else?" Honor asked as she was being tugged past Rory, further down the stairs.

"Uh, just tell Luke it's for me. He'll know."

"Will do," Honor said, nodding sharply, in a tone that is normally accompanied by a salute, but without a free hand to salute with.

Rory entered the apartment and started straightening up. Beds needed to be made and clothes and toys to be picked up, and she was fidgety and agitated and cleaning was what she ended up doing when she was fidgety and agitated. _Why didn't Jess come to the door?_ _Was he really freaked out that bad?_ The note looked freaked out. She didn't want him to be freaked out. She didn't want things messed up. She had enough things messed up in her life right now without any Jess-weirdness. She growled at the back of her throat and looked over at her dead cell phone. Deliberately dead. She didn't want to answer calls. You can't answer calls if your cell phone is dead. But, you can't make any either.

There were dishes in the sink. She filled it with water and suds. She didn't want to wash dishes. She wanted to talk call her mother and ask if she knew where Jess was. He might have mentioned his plans for the day to her before she left for work. It was a better lead than she could get from anyone else without the entire town sticking their nose into the middle of a simple disagreement…or lack of disagreement. Lane was right. She did miss California. Much as she loved Stars Hollow, she hadn't realized until this moment that she'd actually gotten used to people minding their own business!

_Landline!_

Luke had a landline phone somewhere in the apartment, didn't he? _Landline, landline, landline-landline… _"Aha! Eureka!" Rory danced in place jubilantly with the handset grasped victoriously in her raised hand, grinning.

"What the-? Rory, is that you?" said a small Lukish voice from the general vicinity of her hand.

"Aah-_ah_-_HA-_ha-aah!" Rory shudder-shrieked, throwing the phone away from her as if it were a live mouse. She gulped and looked at the thing with very round eyes, her jaw shifting to the side, heart pounding a little, and feeling remarkably foolish.

"Rory? Are you-"

"Should you go up there?"

She scrambled to pick the silly thing up again so Luke wouldn't get worried and come up the stairs and make her feel _really_ stupid. "I'm here-I'm me…I'm…fine. I'm…sorry, to interrupt-uh…you," she stammered, hoping this wasn't an important business contact that she was making Luke look bad in front of…that she was making herself look like a bumbling idiot in front of… She closed her eyes, cursing her own Gilmorosity.

"Oh, you-_Are you-_didn't it's-_sure you're-_no big deal-_okay?" _Luke and Jess voices tumbled over each other on the line.

"_Jess?_"Rory's eyebrows shot up. "Are you downstairs?" She kicked herself the second the words left her mouth. _Why would he be on the phone with Luke if he was downstairs._

"N_o, I'm at-_he's in-_home-_Hartford."

Rory nodded in confused partial-comprehension. The stereo responses were making life very interesting. "Oh." She nodded again as if this imparted something in the silence. "Well, I didn't mean to-"

"You probably wanted to-_I just needed to-_I should let you two-_get back.-_So, okay, uh-_Let us what?-_**click-**_Wait, Luke, what were you…? …okay." _Half the line had gone dead, and Jess' voice was slightly louder and clearer. "Uh-huh…right…" Didn't sound like he had much more of an idea what any of this was all about than she did.

"So, you're back in Hartford?" It was the only thing she could think to say.

"Yep. It was time," Jess said casually, followed by another short space of silence. "Y'know, before my cocker spaniel and iguana both starved to death."

"What? You left them alone all this time?" Rory panicked instinctually. "Wait. You have an iguana and a cocker spaniel?" She sounded confused, doubtful. He chuckled.

"Nope. Just thought I'd check to see if you were paying attention…had any idea how unlikely I was to have a close connection with a reptile…or a dog, for that matter," he said in a tone that normally accompanied a shrug.

"But, Paul Anka!" Rory objected quickly.

"Is not a dog," he corrected. Rory let out a small sound of indignation that he should so slight a member of the family! "No _dog_ gets that kind of consideration. He stopped being canine the moment he came into the possession of one Lorelai Gilmore. From that moment on, that living, breathing, dust mop became a person in his own right. I _dare you_ to tell me I'm wrong!" he joked. She smirked at how he'd caught her in her own objections.

"My work here is done," Jess announced. "I got you to smile. Now, I've gotta get going. I've got a meeting with my editor in half-an-hour, and thanks to this phone call, I'm still dripping wet. So, talk to you soon?" Rory almost choked. She went from wide eyes and a bigger smile, wondering how he knew he'd gotten her to smile, to concern that she was making him late, to being almost as flustered as when the phone call began, to…she needed to answer him, but…the choking.

"Yeah…um…yeah. Soon," she managed to reply. "Wait, Luke called you?"

"Yes."

"And you're in Hartford."

"That _has_ been established."

"Oh… Well…that's why you didn't answer the door."

"Door?"

"At Luke and Lorelai's."

"That would be why."

"Right." She drifted into silence, still feeling foolish.

"Rory?" It was the _are you still on the line?_ tone.

"Yes?" she replied as if startled.

"Um… Editor… Dripping," he reminded.

"Oh." She nodded to the phone again without bothering to wonder why she did it. "Yes." She swallowed. "Bye."

"'Kay. Bye, Rory."

"Bye, Jess."

The line was dead. She looked down at the note in her left hand and groaned, shoulders slumping. After a moment, she flopped a shrug and shook her head.

"Chocolate-chip pancakes!" The words accompanied a decided nod.

_**A/N: After all this, please tell me you like it…even if you don't. All right, no. Be honest, regardless. I can take it! *braces self for impact***_


	25. Chapter 25 - It Had Been a Good Day

_**A/N: Just a snippet, really, but I'm counting on all of you to plague my life out if I don't give you more, and what better way to do that, than leaving it like this? Don't hate me.**_

_Chapter 25 - It Had Been a Good Day_

It had been a good day. Which was kind of a first for a long while, both personally and professionally. Things had been a bit of a mess at the Hartford Truncheon when Jess came back from his stint in Stars Hollow; and that was putting it mildly. Eva and Grace, long time employees, both contacted him wishing to file a complaint of sexual harassment against Grant, a.k.a. _the new guy; _and, evidently he'd been a bit _over friendly_ with some of the customers as well, to the point that one requested to see his manager-who was, of course, out of town due to a _family emergency_, in addition to not generally working on-site. Yeah. He had to fire the guy. Not long after that, both Eva and Grace quit. So, Jess had been required to run the place as a one-man show for about a week while he interviewed prospective employees. There were few things in life he hated more than conducting interviews. Of course, this was actually the first time in his life that he, personally, had been required to conduct them…other than Grant, who obviously hadn't worked out so well. It was an ugly process, but was over mercifully far quicker than he'd anticipated. Again, he'd wound up hiring one guy and two women, hoping that he wasn't just asking for trouble repeating said combination. The exact ratio, naturally, was not intentional. He hired the best of the lot, and that was the result. Then, at the last minute, he ended up hiring one more, an 18 year old girl who applied after all the positions had been filled, but who obviously needed the job pretty badly.

It was only after they all arrived for work the next day that it occurred to him that all four of them were somewhat extreme introverts, which was likely to get interesting in a business that revolved almost entirely around working with the public. But…look who had hired them. In the long run, though, it turned out that he really liked the team he'd assembled; and after a few initial mishaps, caused mostly by lack of communication-_shocker_-they worked together marvelously, each functioning as an insular, yet dedicated piece of the puzzle that was the running of Truncheon.

That was what had made it a good day. He'd seen things really starting to come together, and introverted or not, everybody seemed to be starting to like each other-which was a very good thing, considering the fact that Jess figured he ought to spend more time in Truncheon than previously, even after their training was completed, so that he wouldn't be so out-of-touch if things started going wrong. After a day like this one, when crazy quirks and teasing and all around fun had been the order of the day (mostly at the expense of Jace, the one guy in the group, who was painfully shy and therefore amusing to coax out of his shell), he really didn't think he'd mind the extra time he was going to have to spend there.

The place was definitely developing a good energy, creative and stimulating, in an almost electric way, and Jess had a smile noodling around the corners of his mouth all the way home. His fingers drummed on the dash in time to the song on the radio, and he was absently whistling it as he stepped with a brisk lightness down his walkway toward the front door…which had…four large cardboard boxes stacked in front of it.

Jess frowned, rubbing a spot that itched on his right ear as he squinted down at them. From the label, definitely books. But why they had been delivered to the front door of his home instead of to Truncheon was… It was striking half a chord in his memory, but the pieces weren't coming together.

He retrieved his keys, unlocking the door and carrying one of the boxes inside, hoping that the packing list, or the books themselves would clear up the mystery. A few seconds with box cutters and he remembered quite clearly. He knew the hit his credit card had taken, even at discount prices due to his bookstore status, was considerable, but he hadn't realized he'd gotten _this carried away. He pawed through the books of variegated colors and sizes, strewing them haphazardly on the coffee table and thumbing through a couple of them before heading back to the open front door to get the other three boxes. _

_Jess stopped in his tracks._

_He felt all the breath sucked from his lungs…like a candle…snuffed…_

"_Audra…" the syllables choked from his throat, and it was all he could say._

_He'd seen her only once since the day she walked away…the day they'd been in the church, planning their wedding._


	26. Chapter 26 - The Overest Kind of Over

_**A/N: I had no idea how much it was going to hurt to write this. For once, I'm not aching for Literati. I'm just aching. Sorry. And, you're welcome.**_

_Chapter 26 - The Overest Kind of Over_

"Hello, Jess." She had frozen him, there in the doorway, from his feet to the way his lips stayed parted after the whisper of her name, and she stood there trying to smile, trying to thaw that ice that threatened to fix this moment permanently so that neither would move from this spot for all eternity.

He swallowed, no words coming from his lips, but his eyes drifting to take in the whole of her, every graceful line. The way she was dressed was doing nothing to help him to pick his jaw up from whence it had landed at the sight of her. He knew her as a blue jeans and sweater kind of girl, and was a little blown away to see her standing on his front steps like something he'd dreamed up. She was all in black…and it sparkled, a subtle elegance in the setting sun. Stupid as it sounded, he kept waiting for her to disappear.

Her hesitant lips, the ones that usually spoke in a manner that was steady and sure of herself, answered softly the question he couldn't utter.

"Arthur and Dahlia are…getting married tomorrow." Those words couldn't be easy ones for her to say. Her own wedding ought to have been over a year ago. Her brother was the one who would never get up the nerve to admit how head-over-heels he was with the _she's so high above me_ Dahlia Winters. Jess had inadvertently introduced them, and everybody but everybody knew they belonged together, but neither of them would ever make a move. Now they were…

"Wow…" he breathed, hardly unfrozen, but thunderstruck again. They were getting married, and he didn't even know. He understood why, but it seemed wrong somehow.

Audra almost smiled, looking down at the steps below her feet. "The rehearsal dinner is tonight, so I thought I…would stop by and see how you're doing." Her eyes said at least a hundred words for every spoken one. So did the way her normally confident stance shifted in the tall black heels.

His eyes were hardly less eloquent, but he could still hardly breathe, much less talk. A momentary shift in eyebrows and the twitch in the thumb by his left thigh asked if she wanted to come in. She answered with a glance and the steps that followed him around the boxes and inside. Her eyes roved about the room, seeing how little had changed, like time had stood still since the time when this was to become her home.

As he walked ahead of her through the hall and into the living room, his fingers raked nervously through his hair. Rational thought didn't belong in this scene. She'd dropped from the sky, and that just didn't happen.

"How have you been?" fell from her lips, an excuse of a thing to say that didn't have, couldn't have a pat answer that wasn't an evasion. He let out a breath that was a near silent laugh, shifting his features only slightly.

His eyebrows raised and he blinked into the distance, deciding to tell the simple truth.

"Lonely." He looked up into eyes that were sorry she'd asked. He blinked and looked away, jaw tensing slightly with half clenched teeth. Met her eyes again, candidly, shrugging. "Or fine, if you like." Now she was the one who couldn't seem to talk.

Was she here as an attempt at friendship? He'd like that. And hate it. In a strange way, they would always be friends. Even if they never saw each other again. They certainly couldn't be strangers.

"How are the kids?" She taught literature and creative writing to special needs kids, and kept in touch with every student she'd ever had. It was how they'd met. She brought the kids to a writers' workshop. He was one of the few writers who took an interest in them. She was in love in less than five minutes. It hadn't taken him much longer. Even though he'd have sworn it was impossible not ten seconds beforehand.

She'd loved his books almost as much as she loved him, though she'd never heard of him before that day at the workshop. It didn't take her long to piece together the common thread among them, though. Essentially he'd found more than a dozen ways to tell the same love story that always fell apart in the end. Once upon a time, she set out to mend his broken heart. And sometimes she thought she'd done it.

He loved her. He loved her. That was enough, wasn't it? It didn't have to be first love to be happiness. Even when the happiness sometimes stung with an unbearable ache because he was never supposed to be happy again, it…infused that love with a…poignancy…that fit him somehow. It wasn't the same love, but it wasn't supposed to be.

He'd always been afraid that he wasn't giving her enough. That his all was less than all, since his gutted heart had so little lifeblood left in it. But, still. It was hers.

He told her everything. Everything that mattered. _She _was his cousin now. _She_ was married. _She_ had a kid. It was the overest kind of over there was. They were friends. Family, really. That was all. His heart was smashed, but it was all hers. He was afraid she'd be jealous…dissatisfied. But, she was happy to be the one he gave his poor, smashed heart to. She was happy to become his wife…to make him as happy as she could. Forever.

It wasn't until that perfect, terrible day in the church. Her family was religious. It was important to her. So, he'd get married in a church. Big cathedral-like thing. Stained glass, gray stone. He was looking into her eyes. A deeper blue. Her face. Strong and lovely. The face of an incredible woman, wisdom and rich, fine boned beauty. Not of a little girl, starry eyed and soft in the sunlight. Graceful, not gawky…not stumbling along with a too-heavy backpack. Confident, not naïve and uncertain. Audra was everything encompassed by the best connotations of the word: Woman. Her eyes turned, and she looked up into the sun dazzled ruby and garnet and sapphire tones of glass that lit his face in rainbow hues. He smiled as he watched her look up at it, the colors painting her countenance with a half-bizarre, half transfixing portrait. Smiled until he saw the tears reflected red and blue, shining in her eyes, though not spilling over.

"What is it?" Her face so clouded over that fear became a stone in his stomach. She tried to smile.

"Why is it that I'm always living out the wrong parts of books?" she laughed through the strangled and smothered tears, not allowing them to fall.

"What are you talking about?" She was trying to make this light, and it wasn't. Her face held so much pain, and he didn't know why.

"You know in _Random Harvest_…the scene where they're in the church, just like this…" His mind caught the reference and his heart lurched.

"No…"

"Yes. She was right. Kitty was right."

"_No._" He knew what she was saying, and she couldn't do this. She couldn't think this. She had to know that it was her he loved. She started reciting the lines. She was quoting the movie instead of the book, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter except for the fact that she'd got it all wrong.

"It's no use, is it? I've always known it. I was grasping selfishly at my own happiness…because you could make me perfectly happy…if I were selfish enough not to care, or stupid enough not to know…

"Audra, stop!"

"…that I'm not the one. Sometimes, particularly when we've been closest, I've had a strange feeling that…I remind you of someone else-someone you once knew…someone you loved as you'll never love me."

"That's not true!"

"I am nearly the one. So nearly that I shall always be proud of it. But, nearly isn't enough for a lifetime…" she looked up into his eyes, not quoting anymore. "Her eyes were blue, weren't they?"

"Audra…" he shook his head, eyes pitiful, trying to…

"You don't have to tell me. I can tell. It's always when you look at my eyes…and get lost in them…but, not _my eyes. _You're looking at her. And, I'm not there. It's in your eyes, and in your heart, and in your pen, and I thought I could-" Her voice broke. He opened his mouth to interject, but she cut him off, speaking quickly, before he could begin. "I'm sorry, Jess. I love you." It was so quickly spoken, and just as quickly, she kissed his cheek and turned away, running.

He called after her. He tried to follow her. He tried to call her. He tried to write to her.

He saw her once. In a mall. A couple of months after. Far away. She looked at him, and smiled. She didn't want to talk. He wouldn't make her. In a minute, she was gone.

"More incredible than ever." He'd forgotten what they were talking about. "We're putting on a play next month. One the whole class wrote together." Her face lit up just like it always did when she talked about _her kids. _"The kids are so excited. You should see it." The last sentence seemed to get caught in her throat, as if she'd been trying to stop herself from saying it, but it slipped out before the door closed.

"That's great." He meant it. He wished he could see it. Even if he was sure she hadn't meant that as an invitation. She would do incredible things. The kids too. He would have _loved_ to see it.

She glanced down at the coffee table. At the children's books scattered all over its surface. Jess' stomach clenched.

_Something is Wrong at My House; The Boy Who Didn't Want to Be Sad; My Dad Loves Me, My Dad Has a Disease: A Child's View: Living With Addiction; Kids' Power: Healing Games for Children of Alcoholics; When I Feel Sad; Daddy Doesn't Have to Be a Giant Anymore_

She looked up curiously, a little stunned and a little pleased…more than a little pleased…almost in awe.

"Are you still planning on going the foster route?" Audra asked, something in her having lit up and come alive. Ice almost completely gone.

They hadn't planned on having kids of their own. They talked about it, but in the end, Jess shied away from that route, suggesting instead that they do foster care, and possibly adopt. It had surprised her, more than a little. But, when he explained, reluctantly, his own experience with the foster system-_No. I don't think it's great. I think it's awful, and I don't think any kid should have to go through that. So maybe…if we're there…some of them won't have to.-_it made sense.

"No, um…" he hastened to answer, only to see her face start to fall at the first syllable, and sink further as he continued. "They're…" he looked down at the books. "For a friend." _Stop there, stop… _"Her son-" He saw the shadow cross her eyes in an instant. He couldn't hide anything, could he? "-could use these," he finished stiltedly. Silence. It stretched out like fleece on the ground between them. Her gaze said everything. Wavering smile that held no happiness.

"She really picked a winner."

His eyes closed, and his head bowed. Why did she have to be so cursed intuitive! He didn't even want to look up again. To speak.

"It isn't…" He took a breath. "She's _married._"

Audra nodded.

"She's family."

Her exhalation scoffed this, almost silently.

He bit down on his tongue to give the pain and frustration something to hang onto.

"I _love_ you, Audra." Even after all the time that had passed, he still needed her to know that.

"I know." The contradiction was that her voice was both flat…and had warmth. She _did_ know. It just didn't change anything. She smoothed the chestnut curls that were pinned up on the top of her head in a style that suited the evening gown, unconscious and not particularly caring that the motion mussed the curls more than it smoothed them. "When you love someone," her voice was paper-thin, "you don't stop." She looked him straight in the eye, and it was impossible to mistake the full content of her meaning…everything. The fact that she'd come there that day rapidly becoming night, because she had to know…if maybe he'd changed into someone who was still the person she loved, but somehow wasn't _love never stops_ anymore…at least not hopeless, impossible love. Maybe that love could finally die. Maybe he could actually shed the chrysalis…and fly.

"I love…_you…Audra._" It wasn't any use. He knew it. But he had to try.

She looked at him, not saying a word. Eyes steady. Long time, steady. Then, she glanced down at the books, an aching look, but still one that might be relenting. Maybe. Or just aching.

The ringing of his cell phone broke the silence. It sounded like an old fashioned rotary phone…startlingly loud. Simultaneously buzzing the whole coffee table as it shook. He glanced down at it, and then his eyes closed slowly.

Audra nodded. She was telling him to take the call. He knew that she'd seen the dread in his face…and known what it meant. He could swear up and down that this _never_ happened, but it wouldn't be any use to do that either.

He picked up the phone and flipped it open, hating himself a little for the jaws that clamped in anger.

"Hello." Rory started fumbling all over herself, and he sighed. She had to call _now_ and apologize? Or…not apologize. Accept his apology. _Now? Really?_ And she couldn't even think of the words by herself. "I forgive you?" he offered. He sighed heatedly. "Okay." His voice was a little cold, but it couldn't be helped. "Do you?" he interrupted her. And realized she didn't deserve having him take this situation out on her. She was just…being Rory. "Um…forgive me?" The words came out with the self-deprecation he felt, thinking about the kind of situation she'd been in, and the fact that he _had_ been in the wrong. She picked up on it, and he couldn't help his sound of dry amusement. "Okay, good…I'm glad."

She told him she was in Hartford. He panicked, afraid she would tell him next that she was standing in his driveway. That was the _last_ thing he needed right now! He smothered a sigh of relief when that _wasn't_ what she was saying, but cringed the next moment. She was calling in his marker…his promise…to help…no matter what. She needed his ears, his shoulders, his hands… _How did she always manage to break him? Every time?_ Her sentences were completely incoherent, but he knew she was asking for his help.

"Rory, what are you…? What are you babbling about?" his pain leaked through in the form of irritation, and he tried to fix it. "I mean, how can I help?" He owed her that much. He had promised. That wasn't the kind of promise you can go back on, no matter what it cost.

What did she mean, she needed coffee? From him? What was he supposed to do? "Make it? Drink it? Spray it all over you?" he joked, trying to be casual.

She wanted him to meet her…for coffee. "In Hartford," he confirmed, sounding a little uncertain.

She got worried and asked if he was out of town. "No, I just… You want me to meet you for coffee somewhere in Hartford. Where do you want to go?" He glanced up at Audra, knowing he was sealing his fate…their fate, and hating it, but putting on an _everything-is-fine _bantering act with Rory as they decided on a coffee shop. Finally: "So - La Paloma on Capitol," he confirmed.

In another moment he was off the phone, looking down at it with a muted bitterness, a dull razor blade hacking at his insides. He spoke without looking up. "You wanna come along?"

He knew the answer was _no._ He knew that if she came it would be an utter _disaster_ on all counts. But, he had to ask. He had to try. He…

"She needs you."

His eyes closed at the breathless ice that attempted to mask the pain in her words.

"Go."

There was nothing he could say. …_Nothing!_

_It was gone._

_Hope._

_Happiness._

_Anything._

_Anything worth living for…no longer existed._

_If you love too much…_

_you lose it all_


	27. Chapter 27 - Paper Faces on Parade

_**A/N: I know that I've kept you waiting approximately two centuries for this chapter, and I don't know whether, in your estimation, it will prove to have been worth the wait, but my beloved editor and I had a vision, which could not seem to be satisfied no matter how many times this chapter was reworked. You know how I was asking for help writing dialogue for Shira and Emily? Well, it turned out that was almost the entire problem. Their dialogue did not belong in this chapter…nor did any other dialogue. It is what it is. ;-) And, if perchance you want music to set the mood as you read, you need look no further than the chapter title.**_

_**Collapses in a heap after completing the chapter that took six months to write!**_

_**Huge thank you to my beloved husband (whose vision inspired the entire concept, and whose editing was like that of a gem-cutter in this chapter) and the invaluable assistance, encouragement and brainstorming sessions of Melethril and allessandramari!**_

_**Let the chapter begin!**_

_Chapter 27 - Paper Faces on Parade_

The evening air was cool, the setting sun turning the sky a murky lavender, early stars peeped through the deepening blackness. Rory Huntzberger stepped out of her glittering pumpkin shell and gracefully stepped down to the pavement, admiring the way her glass slippers glimmered in the twilight.

Up the polished marble steps, through grand doors, past priceless decorations, the ballroom was a sea of glass and light. Chandeliers set against dizzyingly high domed windows cast an ethereal glow through filmy white curtains that whispered all the way down to the windowpanes. Standing at the top of the grand staircase, the strains of a Viennese Waltz wafted up from the orchestra. Rory Huntzberger descended the polished stairs, holding her skirts daintily as she went, so that the hem in back just barely brushed the steps where her feet had been the moment before. Her graceful stride moved toward the vast marble floor, coursing with swirling gowns and tuxedos. Gliding among the groups of people, titters of welcome and air kisses were exchanged, the hum of their approving words tickling her ears.

Candles glowed from each of the round dining tables, immaculately set with napkins in origami perfection and every fish fork and compote spoon lined up with military precision. Champagne flutes frosted with their cold libation, glowed with the candlelight filtered through dancing bubbles.

Rory Huntzberger flitted from one table to the next, one cluster of tuxedos and floating gowns to another. It was a dance, an intricate and elegant dance, just as the couples swirling across the floor in perfect time to the soaring strings, she danced to the rhythm of the room, of the air, of the people who dusted her with the gold dust glitter of their laughter. Just as every step of those tuxedos, those gowns, her motions were choreographed and orchestrated and complex, but she made it look effortless. In this ballet, she had once been the ingénue but the eyes of all in the room saw her now with the grace and presence of a prima donna.

Rory Huntzberger's gliding steps carried her toward the place that was hers between the gold and bronze statuettes that were Shira Huntzberger and Emily Gilmore. Her lithe body was poised, elegant lines from her upswept chestnut hair to the subtle train of her silver-white dress; her eyes like sapphire's facets dazzled by the glint of chandelier and candelabra; her laughter like silver bells in the snow, ringing out their reward for a wit carefully turned or a compliment well given.

The human sea parted, ever so slightly, to admit one Tristan DuGrey, decked in all the finery the event required. With an air that was 3 parts debonair, one part gentleness, he swept Rory Huntzberger a bow and requested the honor of her presence on the floor. In one fluid motion, he guided her to join the sweeping ebb and flow that rushed with the tide of the music. There was a mocking gentleness to the eyes that watched her as they danced…gentleness superseding to the point that the mocking was almost lost altogether. The candles and the orchestra and the tables with their silver and gold and all the people blurred in the dizzying intoxication of the dance. Rory Huntzberger's silver bells rang out and her eyes danced.

She was still hazy and giddy when deposited once again between the gold and bronze statuettes. The gold began a clucking of disapproval veiled behind the halcyon sparkle. Her sing-song was honey and aspartame as she spoke through a plastic smile of duty and the neglect thereof.

Rory's eyes shot up, and the eyes of the bronze statuette flashed, something like a dagger does in the sun.

The manner of the gold was dulcet and conciliatory, but as artificial as the nails on her fingers and the flawless figure she spent a fortune to nip and tuck and trim.

The syllable that escaped Emily Gilmore's lips was shrill and staccato; she lowered her head and growled like a bulldog defending its pups.

Shira Huntzberger chided in return, _tsk-tsk_ing in honeyed reproof. She shook her flax-gold curls at the older woman, ostriching her head in the sand as she always did. Her eyes glowed with a flame that gave no warmth, reflexively smoothing The Smile onto her face…that same plastic smile that saw her through all the 'strains of her obligations'…all of Logan and Honor's 'indiscretions'…all of Mitchum's 'dalliances' and 'coarsenesses,' and even his 'unfortunate end.' The Smile…always The Smile. That same plastic smile.

The eyes that met Shira's false blaze were cold as ice. No pretense. Quiet, calculated, bullets returned tit for tat. The two statuettes contorted in a snide, bitter war-dark and white queen vying for check and mate.

Rory Huntzberger shrank from the confrontation, gliding away from the move and countermove, onto the checkered marble, in search of an available partner to sweep her back into oblivion and soaring strings. But an obstacle stood in her path: a woman in fuss and feathers who wanted an answer to a question, who wanted the young prima donna's favor and blessing.

Rory Huntzberger murmured the words that brought a smile of satisfaction to the woman's face. Her voice was sweetness itself, and as she turned once again, she caught her reflection in the dazzled brilliance of the windowpane: Rory's face wearing Shira Huntzberger's serene plastic smile.

Orchestration, choreography, seamless rhythm, graceful motion…..she stumbled.

_**A/N: I have now left you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing the process of leaving a review. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. EverFixed Mark has been returned to you, and I am anxious that its composition should progress. I shall watch for reviews from my normal seat in box five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, ladies and gentlemen, your obedient servant.**_

_**O.G.**_


	28. The Other Side of the Conversation

_**A/N: My beloved readers, I cannot apologize profusely enough. You have waited FAR TOO LONG. Hopefully, as a peace offering, you will accept this morsel of Jess and Rory conversation, along with the fact that I have another short non-Jess/Rory chapter to post tonight. This story is a conundrum. The first 18 chapters practically wrote themselves. The next 8 required my assistance, along with that of my beloved editor (husband-who comes up with most of my best chapter ideas, might I add). The 27**__**th**__** chapter all on its own required over 6 months and endless rewrites. The rest of the story is feeling Herculean. I'll never forgive myself if I don't finish it, and there is SO MUCH more story to tell, but I could really use the help of a good beta…not as much for editing as for helping me to plot out the rest of the story, brainstorm certain elements, etc. If anyone is willing to give it a shot, please PM me.**_

_**Enough of me jabbering. On to chapter 28.**_

_Chapter 28 - The Other Side of the Conversation_

She was still shaking…standing on concrete steps with jello legs and wobbly heels and electricity buzzing in her veins. She'd sent the limo driver on his way. No matter where she went from here, she _wasn't_ going by limo.

In a dizzy adrenaline rush, she nearly called a cab to drive her to the Hartford mausoleum - she wanted to yell at Logan and claw at him, and have him hold her in his arms. _NO! _That was crazy - she was crazy - and that was a _horrible idea!_

Hartford. Jess had a house in Hartford. He could drive her home… home to Stars Hollow. Rory bit her lips together. She didn't want anybody driving her home - not even Jess.

Too many thoughts buzzing and swirling and bumping into each other in her head. She needed to sort things out. She needed to talk things out. And, as much as she could count on her mother as the perfect sounding board…this was different. This was a lifetime's worth of _I ran away from that world for a reason. _The words _I told you so_ would never cross her mother's lips, but they already rang in Rory's head, and she needed this to be about so much more.

She scraped her teeth along her lower lip and bit down on the last bit of skin.

A different voice played in her mind: "You see these ears? They're for anything you need to talk about."

A long, deep, shuddering breath …a deliberate swallow.

She thought up excuses to call as she dialed his number, trying to push out of her mind the fact that in their last conversation she'd made an idiot of herself flinging a phone across the room, and he'd tricked her into thinking he had an iguana and a cocker spaniel…and they hadn't settled anything. He picked up quicker than she expected and it flustered her even more.

"Hello?"

"O-Oh," Rory stammered. "Well…well, I…I just called to say, um…thank you…for…for… You don't say thank you to an apology. I have a two-year-old and a four-year-old, I should know this. 'Thank you' follows 'please,' and 'you're welcome' follows 'thank you,' and why on earth can't I think what follows I'm sorry?"

"I forgive you?" Jess offered tentatively.

"That's right! Of course, that's right. What am I thinking? I…I can't say that," she ended, faltering.

"Okay." How had she forgotten how frustrating he could be?

"I mean…I can't… It sounds…" she floundered, getting more impatient with herself by the moment.

"Do you?" he interrupted her awkwardness to ask.

"Do I what?" she asked in turn, drawn up short.

"Um…forgive me." They were the first words he said that didn't sound sure of himself. They sounded penitent and shuffling. And, instantly, she realized that the sureness had been a front, his go-to for painful awkwardness: pretend it doesn't exist, and maybe it will go away.

"Of course I forgive you, Jess," she relented, irritation dissolving the moment she heard that tone in his voice. "There really wasn't anything to forgive. I just…took what you said the wrong way, that's all. You are _not_ allowed to beat yourself up over this!" she insisted, and she could hear a small exhalation from his nostrils that was nearly a laugh. From that one sound, she could visualize the shifting of his expressions, the twisting half-smile, bitten back a couple of times as he marveled over the fact that she still could read him that well. It wasn't just the tone in the three words he spoke so reluctantly that told her how much he'd been torturing himself over this. She'd seen the state of the paper where his eraser had nearly worn a hole into the spot where he called himself one harsh name after the other, only to erase the whole thing, deciding that he didn't deserve a place there on that page at all. Really, the only reference to himself in any sense, was the "I'm" before the "sorry." She hated that he tormented himself so much over the smallest mistakes.

"Okay. Good." He paused. "I'm glad." There was silence on the line for a moment.

"Jess?" He waited for what was to follow. "Um…I'm in Hartford."

"Okay…"

"And I need…a friend." Her voice sounded tentative and awkward as it always did before the re-emergence of the Rory-ramble. "You offered your ears. And, I need your ears. Preferably your mouth too…I mean, for talking. But, really I need your legs because it's awfully hard to drive without legs, or rather, more your feet than your legs, to drive…and your hands for the wheel. 'Cause it would be hard to get there without driving…I mean, I suppose you could walk, but that would require feet and legs also…"

"Rory, what are you…? What are you babbling about?" he sounded confused, but also like he regretted his choice of words. "I mean, how can I help?"

She heaved two quick breaths, almost as if her rapid speech had winded her, though anyone who knew her, knew this was not the case. It was more pathetic puffs of frustration at her inability to communicate articulated thoughts, despite her many words. So, she settled upon the one word that had been the most vital in her lifetime vocabulary. "Coffee?"

"Make it? Drink it? Spray it all over you?" he ventured casually.

"Meet me," she specified, sticking with the economy of words philosophy that was usually his trademark, but which usually served her pretty well when she employed it.

"In Hartford," he stated in confirmation. She realized that she'd only assumed he was at home. He sounded relaxed…he sounded…um…homish?

"Oh, are you out of town?" she asked, an apprehensive, nervous, politeness entering her voice. She didn't want to presume upon him. Presume that he was at her beck and call - that he never did anything, or had anything else _to do. _He could be busy, _very busy. _He could have guests…he could…

"No, I just… You want me to meet you for coffee somewhere in Hartford. Where do you want to go?" She released a breath silently.

"Um…do you know La Paloma Sabanera?"

"You mean, have I checked out the competition? Yeah, once or twice. No more than two dozen times," he equivocated, jokingly.

"The comp-? Oh, right. I forgot they sell books!"

"You _forgot_ they sell _books? Rory!_ You've been abducted by aliens, haven't you?" Jess' voice mocked her in a ridiculously frightened tone.

"No, I mean - I forgot _you_ s- I mean, I didn't _forget_-forget, I just forgot that…" she sighed in exasperation. Jess began to laugh at her with his soft, friendly, mocking chuckle.

"They're not really the competition. Not till _Truncheon _starts selling lattes and paninis. Funny. I would have figured you for a Jojo's kind of girl," he smirked audibly.

"But, the _books!_" Rory objected. Jess chuckled again. It was a melody she had missed.

"I take it back. No alien abductions after all. So - La Paloma on Capitol," he confirmed.

"La Paloma on Capitol."

_**A/N: Reviews are life and hope.**_


	29. I'll Have What He's HavingHemlock

_**A/N: Imagine this scene taking place whenever you like…I'm not certain where it belongs, but it belongs somewhere in this story and demanded to be included. Thanks to my beloved editor who told me that Tristan didn't belong in this story, and then sat him down, put a drink in his hand and set him to talking.**_

_Chapter 29 - I'll Have What He's Having…Hemlock, is it?_

"I'll have what he's having." Tristan sat down heavily as the waitress walked away. "It's crazy, ya know?

"Whole family's shot to hell. Four generations _down the hatch_. Two of them already in the grave. Two more…" Raised eyebrows across the table chided his flair for the overdramatic. A dry chuckle that sounded like someone else-someone drunk instead of tired. "Forget it."

He bit his lip. "It's stupid, though. You wouldn't catch me going on a bender if my old man kicked it." A glass materialized before him and he picked it up. "Least I don't think I would. Not that bad. I've never drank so much that I hit anybody. I mean…" He gestured in a circular motion with the scotch. He'd been in a bar fight. That didn't count. "Can you even imagine? I mean, hitting a woman who-not just-" his jaws clenched, "your _wife_, for God's sakes. Your wife, your girlfriend, how do you do that? How do you justify that? A guy you grow up with, spend summers with, pull all the stupid crap that kids pull…how…" He clouded over, setting the glass down again.

"I went to school with her." Eyes registered mild surprise. "Seriously. Chilton, just before I got shipped off to Carolina… Total Mary. _God_, those eyes! I just about knocked her boyfriend's block off once. Dumb kid." He scowled into the scotch, picking it up once more. "How many drinks would it take till you couldn't see those eyes looking back at you? How many would it take?

"Two kids-cute kids, as far as kids go. They're with her. Probably gone for good. You lose your kids. The worst of the gossip mill says he wailed on them too. I don't know what to believe. Wish I could call it all a lie. I wish it was." The glass clonked on the table as he put it down again, and he stared at the thing. "How many? Is it just a matter of one more? One more and you get to that point where you don't even know anymore?"

He tilted the glass to the right, the scotch and the ice almost spilling over the edge. "One more drink…and you don't see those eyes and you don't think about what you're doing to your kids and you don't see your whole life slipping away from you…"

He tilted the glass slowly, like a pendulum, to the left. "One less drink…and the bullet whizzes by and you don't even know what you could've lost."

To the right, "One more drink…"

to the left, "…one less drink…

"one _more_ drink…

"one _less_ drink."

Clatter of glass on wood as his hand left it altogether. He looked up at the waitress passing, and caught her sleeve between the tips of his fingers. "Can you take this? I… I'll take some ice water."

A crease between the woman's eyebrows, but she took the glass.

"Stuff's wrecked enough in my family. I'll prob'ly pick it up tomorrow, but, for now…" He nodded minutely as the waitress set down the glass of water. Tristan grasped the cold cup and threw it back as if it were something stronger.

"Thanks, Colin. It's been good talking with you."

_**A/N: Your thoughts would be much appreciated.**_


	30. Cindy and Juan V

_**A/N: I seem to have gotten a second wind. My goal at this point, is to post at least one chapter every 2 weeks, so that this story can actually come to completion. Believe it or not, I estimate we're about halfway through. As reward for your incredible patience (however many of you have stuck it out this long, or have discovered this fic recently) I'll give you a decidedly Rory-and-Jess-full chapter to savor.**_

_**Anybody remember where we are in the story? All right, recap of the last few chapters: Rory attended a charity ball and got a frightening look in the mirror ("Am I turning into Shira Huntzberger? Get me outta here!"), fled that scene and called Jess. Meanwhile, Jess' ex fiance turned up on his doorstep, looking as if she might be willing to give their relationship a second try, until the phone rang… ("She needs you. Go.")**_

_Chapter 30 - Cindy and Juan V._

"So, you jilted him, huh?" These were the first words out of Jess' mouth as he exited the car and fed the parking meter. She'd beaten him to the coffee shop and stood waiting on the sidewalk.

"What?"

"Whatever poor sap you left standing at the altar," he continued, eyes indicating the elaborate white dress she'd shimmied into four hours previously. "Just as well… Bigamous marriages don't tend to stick." The coffee shop door was nested in the corner of the brickwork building. As he opened it for her, his eyes flickered in jest, matching the wry tilted smile consciously flashed in her direction.

Rory crossed the distance from the door to one of the chessboard topped tables as if she owned the café, the street, the block, the world! She sat down, talking at a rapid clip. "Joke all you want. I'm _free! I'm done! I don't have to go back!_" Stretching out her arms triumphantly, one of her glittering shoes, which she now held in her hand as they'd been killing her feet, clunked into his shoulder and he glanced at it bemusedly, though his eyes looked a bit tired. She was too giddy with her newfound realization of freedom to stop even for a second and apologize for the impact. "I'm telling the fairy godmother to take a hike; and I want a refund, and that I'm going back to my ridiculous rags and my pumpkin and my beloved mice and birds! Because it's better to get dressed by birds and mice and sing all the time, even if you do have to scrub the floors, than to go to stupid balls where everyone is two-faced and backstabbing, right? I mean, wouldn't you rather have the birds and mice?"

His smile widened, and he held up a forefinger so she'd pause for a second. "Hold that thought. I want to hear the entire emancipation proclamation, figure out why on earth I would want birds and mice dressing me, and help give the fairy godmother the old heave-ho - but, first - coffee. _I_ need it even if you don't!"

Rory's eyes sparkled, "Who needs a ball when Prince Charming was sitting at home the whole time?"

Jess turned quickly away without a word, but she caught a flicker of something like pain or anger in his expression and realized that maybe referring to an ex as 'prince charming' wasn't the best of ideas. It was very much what her mother would have said in the identical situation, but her mother had always been able to get away with far more than Rory ever had.

For a moment, Rory's eyes swept along the bookshelves, too far away to read any of the titles, but comforting in their very presence.

On their 5th anniversary, La Paloma had a celebration, and in preparation, they had painted a new mural along the face of the counter where Jess was standing placing their order. He stood blocking the guitar in the picture, and to his right there was a huge cup of steaming coffee. To his left, was the picture of a dove - a red dove, but a dove nonetheless - for which the coffee shop had been named. In her mind, the association was immediate - tonight she had escaped from her gilded cage and flown, and the exhilaration was coursing through her veins more powerfully than even her beloved coffee had ever done. It spread gladness across her face.

Next to the dove was a typewriter. Despite her own journalistic career - and the fact that he'd probably never used one in his life - to her, the typewriter was Jess…Jess and his book…Jess and his business…his life. At the sight of the typewriter, she wondered whether she had any right to do this - to pull him away from his life in the middle of an evening just to sit and listen to her babble on about what she'd figured out about her own. Even if he _had_ offered, it was a thoughtless imposition. When had she ever heard him say that he _needed_ coffee?

A white cardboard cup appeared, blocking her gaze and coming to rest on the checkered inlaid wood. Scrawled on the cardboard was the name _Cindy_, and on the cup Jess set down opposite, the moniker _Juan V. _Rory smiled.

"Did I call at a bad time, Jess?" she blurted out, causing a singular expression to flash across his face. "I mean, did I mess anything up by calling? I didn't hardly stop to-"

"It's fine," he interrupted, shaking his head with a dismissive frown and taking his seat.

"I did, didn't I!" she exclaimed, groaning. "Oh, good grief - I can be _so_ selfish sometimes! I can't believe I didn't even ask or-"

"I told you to call if you needed help. Anytime. Anywhere. That doesn't work if you've got to stop and ask questions. I said I'd be upset if you didn't take me up on it. I meant that."

There was a tightness around his jaws that told her there was more to the story, but he swung the conversation back around to her before she could press further. "So, what's got you traipsing around Hartford in glass slippers, defying fairy godmothers, renouncing balls, and longing to sing among the cinders?" The tone in his voice and the look in his eye lightened deliberately, coaxing her to do the talking she'd asked the loan of his ears for.

So, she told him the whole story: tonight's fundraiser, the fog, like a dream that she'd been in…realizing she'd been in a fog for longer than she'd care to admit.

She hardly paused, but he pushed forward a cherry-coconut pastry he'd gotten for her along with the coffee, which she uncharacteristically hadn't noticed. She grinned her thanks and started eating as she spoke, pausing to _mmm_ for a second over the flaky cherry deliciousness, and then again to sip her coffee.

"I couldn't believe that she expected me to go and _fetch_ Logan to go to a social event, to pretend that nothing was wrong and nothing was happening, and everything was just _business as usual_. Because, of course, a charity fundraiser, and _keeping up _appearances are so much more important than our marriage or our children, or anything that we've been going through - which she hasn't even acknowledged, _of course. _It was just _so Shira!"_ Rory's fingers splayed rigid in the air as she spoke her mother-in-law's name.

"Just because _she_ drowned herself in alcohol, and spa appointments, and God knows what else so that she could pretend to be the perfect wife, dutifully by her husband's side in public, and putting up with his abuse in private, she thinks that's just _what one has to do." _Rory jutted her shoulders upward and tossed her head in place of the insinuated air quotes._ "_I mean, _no wonder_ she thought I wouldn't be able to be Logan's wife if I had a career of my own and ambitions of my own. _She knew_ that in order to keep up with being in the Huntzberger family, it takes all you have just to pretend to be happy, perfect, golden people, while spinning in circles and doing cartwheels, juggling all of the red tape and appointments and insanity, on top of the business! It's _ridiculous!_

She took another bite and ranted with her mouth full of pastry and her tone full of emphatic disdain. "You have to be a contortionist cardboard cutout with _no brain, no personality…_just…_effervescent champagne bubbles_, and hair appointments, and," she thrust her fingers in front of his eyes for inspection, "fake fingernails! I have stupid, acrylic, moronic, _fake fingernails!_ Can you believe it?

"...I mean, that's not who I am! That's not who I'm going to _be! _I'm finished with all of it! I am _Rory Gilmore! -_mother, journalist, daughter of Lorelai Gilmore, reigning princess of Stars Hollow-"

Jess squinted and frowned, interrupting. "Do princesses reign? I thought that if you were a princess that meant your mother was reigning, or your father, or both - not that Christopher Hayden would be ruling Stars Hollow, I just meant in the hypothetical speaking-of-royalty way. I didn't know that princesses were eligible for reigning."

"Well, I suppose technically not, but there is absolutely no doubt that my mother is the ruling queen of Stars Hollow. You ought to know that!" Her tone turned even more vehement, her eyes daggers against him.

"Of course! Never doubted it for a minute!" Jess surrendered. He took another bite of the pie in front of him, chewed and swallowed it slowly. "So you're done with all that?" Jess' serious questions always sounded like statements in disguise...pseudo-statements.

"Yes! I mean, it never was my world. It was Grandma and Grandpa's world, and Mitchum and Shira's world. It was never the world I belonged to. Really. I've been married to Logan for seven years, and for six of those we had almost nothing to do with any of the upper-crust, stuffy, socialite scene. I mean, between his business and _The Times_, there were cocktail parties and...you know...that sort of vaguely ritzy stuff, but nothing like the galas and benefits and...I don't know...this whole scene. But, then, last year when Mitchum died, all hell broke loose! It uprooted everything. We had to sell our house and I had to go on a hiatus that turned into quitting my job. Logan had to delegate his business affairs and watch the whole thing go under from across the continent, because the stock took a dive at just the wrong moment and a new start-up ended up taking over half their client base…and one of his business partners got sick. And, even trying to manage it all with teleconferences and working online, Logan couldn't keep up. He was too busy trying to disentangle the Huntzberger estate and the Huntzberger Corporation-all the red tape and all the litigations. They just kept coming out of the woodwork. Everyone wanted to contest everything about the will, about the way the corporation was going to go forward from such a devastating blow...and, in the middle of all that, we were thrust into the limelight and into society, and we had these _roles to play_. It was the world I'd never really been a part of, and the world he'd been trying to escape-"

Jess' eyebrows rose sharply at that.

"Oh yeah! Logan wanted no part of it. He'd been trying to get out from underneath Daddy's thumb his whole life and get away from the whole..." Rory twirled her finger in the air to indicate the whirlwind of Connecticut society.

"You never knew Logan, Jess. You only thought you did." Rory tapped her fingers, and then began removing the bobby pins from her elaborately coiffed up-do, struggling to grip them with her acrylic fingernails.

"Anyway...we got stuck in the tornado of it all - all the fundraisers and societies for the reformation of everything under the sun and the elaborate dinner parties...and everything that goes with it. The 'social calendar.' It's like a hamster wheel. And tonight...I just realized...I can get off-that's it! Slam on the brakes! Drop anchor! Stop the world,_ I want to get off!_" The pins and silverware rattled on the table as she brought her palm down emphatically upon it, her loosed hair looking for a moment like the mane of a mustang.

Jess raised his eyebrows slower this time, questioning.

"I can. I mean, since Logan and I aren't together, there's no possible reason I have to keep being a part of all that! I don't have to do it anymore! I'm done!"

Jess' eyebrows drew downward with whatever he was currently not saying.

"What?" she asked.

Jess shrugged his shoulders and his eyebrows matched the motion. "Nothing. Just...keeping my nose in my own business," he said diplomatically as his eyes roamed the table in search of something he could pretend he was interested in.

Rory shrugged this time. "I'm airing my business in front of you. If there's something you want to ask, fire away. If it's too personal, I'm perfectly capable of telling you to butt out."

"Well?"

Jess' head dipped down and he looked up at her with a cautious but casual hesitance. "You and Logan aren't together?" His voice sounded more skeptical than inquisitive.

"Me and the boys living above Luke's diner while Logan lives in our house in Hartford doesn't really qualify as together." She spoke as though this should be self explanatory.

"Well, no, but...you are married. That indicates a certain level of...togetherness," he reasoned. "Unless that's changed."

"No..." Rory sighed and looked lost for words for a moment. "I don't know if it's going to." She glanced out the window to the street, as if she needed to be someplace else in that moment. "I mean...I can't see going back to him. But..." Her fingers twisted together, destroying the napkin she was holding. "I don't really know what's going to happen at this point."

"You don't have to," Jess assured her in a mild, careful tone. "I was just trying to follow...your train of thought," he half-shrugged.

Rory forced a smile that was nonetheless genuine. "You should know better than that by now," she joked. "Get yourself awfully tangled up."

Jess smiled and looked at the table.

Neither spoke for the space of a minute or so. With her pastry finished, Rory ran her tongue around the grooves of her upper teeth, clearing the remnants of it from between them. She watched him absently demolish the cardboard cup sleeve.

"Jess, you changed the subject."

His eyebrows lifted without leaving the torn fibers in his fingers.

"I interrupted something when I called you."

Jess abruptly stood, taking her coffee cup, his face tight. "Refill," he muttered in explanation before striding back over to where the carafes stood upon the counter. She watched his shoulders rise and fall slowly, their blades distinct through the weave of his shirt. It seemed to take longer than usual to fill a coffee cup, making her eyes brim with worry.

Placed distinctly in the very center of the table, as if the it were a pawn-the cup that read: _Cindy. _He sat looking at it for a few seconds. "You know how I said…that I was engaged once upon a time?" He frowned and kept his eyes momentarily on a vacant table off to her left.

Rory nodded, eyes both empty and full in wanting to understand and being afraid to.

"Well…" he swallowed trying to get a hold on his words, "my former fiancée…dropped by today, and that…" smiling ruefully, "didn't go so well."

"Sorry." It was a single word, sunk softly, leaving rippled circles echoing her voice where there had been stillness.

Jess shrugged. "I don't…" his gaze meandered. "I don't wanna talk about it. I just…" He bit his lips together and shook his head. "If I'm not exactly…" He trailed off with a shrug, the explanation hanging in the air.

"I get it," Rory's eyes slipped down to her lap as her lips pressed together.

Jess squinted and pulled himself inward, wanting to change direction a second time. "Don't let that…" He shrugged both shoulders in earnest, his expression following suit. "I'm still here. I…still want to listen to everything you… You've had an epiphany, and epiphanies require a sounding board and a…cheering section. I'm still…" he nodded toward her indicating his receptiveness and bit down on his lower lip in something that resembled a smile. "I brought my pom-poms." His lips curled into something softer than a smirk, but with the same general properties.

"Thank you." Rory's eyes flicked toward his in gratitude and then rested on the table.

After a space of quiet between them, Louis Armstrong's rich, soft gravel and the clinking of forks on plates filling out the background, Jess leaned forward a bit. "So…now that the ball is over, what's next?"

Rory sat back in her chair, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. "I don't know. I think I have to kind of…remember what it's like to be me. Refocus on the boys. Figure out a direction to take my life. Eventually talk to Logan again and see…what if anything we are to each other."

Her fingers were a drumbeat on the tabletop and one leg swung nervously.

"I'll have to start all over with interviews and get my career back on track. Figure out where we're going to live, how I'm going to manage working and being a single mom…presumably." The firm line of her mouth weakened, and there was a pensiveness to her features.

"Jess, is it strange…" Rory broke off in the middle of a question, folding her hands unevenly, entwining only some of her fingers together like buttons done up by someone getting dressed in the dark. A shallow breath preceded the rest of her words. "I've traveled the world. I've lived on the road. Built a career. Moved across the continent twice. Lived for years as a married woman. Been a mother. But…" Her words ran out and her eyes stung.

"What?" he prompted gently after a few seconds had elapsed.

"I don't…" Rory's eyebrows formed high arched parentheses. "I don't feel like I'm ready to leave home." A self-mocking scoff escaped her. "How…?"

"Rory, don't." The words were soft, and Jess reached out a hand, resting it on the table just short of her fingers.

"I feel like Stars Hollow is a nest and I'm not ready to leave it, and that's just…" She could feel her breath quickening-her chest tightening.

"Rory…slow down," Jess urged. "It's great that you're finding your independence and breaking free from all the things that were suffocating you and…"

She could tell that he stopped himself from referencing the more personal things she was breaking free from.

"It's good that you're…reasserting yourself…being you-that's extremely important. It means everything." His eyes sought hers earnestly. "But don't be in such a hurry. Give yourself a chance to regain your equilibrium. Wait till your head stops spinning. Help your kids' heads to stop spinning." He dipped his chin forward as if asking her to consider.

Rory's eyes closed for a moment. This was why she called Jess. He'd helped her _regain equilibrium _once before. She'd witnessed the fact that he'd done the same with his own life before that. It seemed, in a way, as if that's who he was. Now, at least. Someone who could bring everything to rest.

She nodded. "_Yeah_," she breathed. "I need to feel the ground under my feet."

"Before you start running," Jess half-smiled encouragingly.

Her quiet smile agreed, eyes sinking to her now empty plate. The smile changed to a bit of a scowl. "Hungry."

Jess laughed.

"Well, I kind of ran out taking my glass slippers with me, thank-you-very-much, before I had the chance to eat anything."

He scooted his chair backward. "Well, then, while I grab us another round, why don't you peruse the menu and order us both something to eat. I hadn't gotten around to dinner either," he suggested. "They make great sandwiches, et cetera," he enunciated distinctly, "and I'll settle for luck of the draw." He handed her his credit card as he spoke the last bit.

"Put that away!" She pushed it from her.

"Take it," he pressed, placing it in her hand and letting go as he turned to refill their cups.

Rory rolled her eyes and sighed as she went to order their food.

_**A/N: Still enjoying this story? Does this chapter live up to the standards to which you had become accustomed? I'd love to hear what in particular you liked about it…or what in particular you hated about it, for that matter. Reviews are food and drink. :D**_


	31. Guangzhou or Bust

_**A/N: I said that my goal was to post at least one new chapter every two weeks. So…this is me exceeding 'at least' - :D - One week and a second chapter! It definitely feels good to be getting back into the swing of things. This is a short one, but it feels complete just as it is, so…here we are. And, folks…it's Guangzhou or bust!**_

_Chapter 31 - Guangzhou or Bust_

"So, he's a jerk - beginning, middle and end of story," April stated matter-of-factly.

Rory had volunteered to close the diner for Luke since Caesar had gone home early, and Luke and Lorelai's kids were over at the Belleville's for the night. Luke would never dream of insinuating that he and Lorelai required any sort of _ahem _adult alone time in Rory's presence, regardless of her age or marital status. Lorelai, on the other hand, wasn't above dropping a few heavy-handed hints, even if Rory could have put two and two together all on her own _thank-you-very-much_, and would have been happy to volunteer to give them an evening alone without her mother's persuasion. Then again, if she had, Luke probably would have declined the offer out of embarrassment. So, maybe Lorelai's hints had been more for Luke's benefit (and to be able to watch Luke squirm) than because she thought her daughter required them.

April had showed up…completely out-of-the-blue. As far as Rory knew, April could have been on the other side of the world - literally. She had just…_just-_just gotten back from a trip to China. And, she had _kind of_ been hoping she could stay in the apartment above the diner…semi-permanently, actually. It was a long story, but the short version was that she wanted to move to China-in a year. But doing so would be kind of expensive, and so she was trying to think of ways cut costs while she was still in school. Trouble was, as a Yale scholarship student, she was pretty well broke already, and there weren't very many costs she _could_ cut…_except_ maybe by living off-campus in cheap housing…or free housing…like the apartment above the diner. The commute wouldn't be bad. It was less than 25 miles. And, she was kind of hoping to talk to her dad and get him on board with this whole plan…particularly the moving to China part, and the living in Stars Hollow part…before she opened the subject up for discussion with her mom.

To find her step-sister there closing up instead of her father had been surprising. Really surprising. It seemed when you left the country for awhile, big things happened. Really big, life altering things…and people forgot to tell you. Things like your step-brother-in-law being slime of the earth and forcing your step-sister and her kids to find other living arrangements on account of him becoming a stinking alcoholic abuser. Those kinds of big things.

Rory's eyes were focused on the pair of boy's blue jeans her lap. The two of them were up in the apartment folding clothes, because it was easier to talk about things like this if you had an excuse to look downward most of the time.

"Yeah…kind of a jerk." Her voice was quiet. She blinked at the blue jeans, drawing a deep breath before looking up again. "You know, you _could_ stay here. I know it isn't exactly what you had in mind. You thought you would have the apartment to yourself, and you _should._ After all, it's your dad's diner."

"Stop," April deadpanned. There was no need to start a debate over which one of them had higher claim to Luke, or Luke's property or assistance…particularly since they each would have been arguing the other's case, and the whole thing would just be pointless. "I'd be fine on the couch if I wouldn't be in your way."

"Really? That couch is _not_ comfortable."

"I don't have a bad back or anything. You and the boys were here first. I'm the one that's barging in. Therefore, I get the couch…if Luke lets me stay at all."

"Stop," Rory returned with a teasing half-smile quirking at the corners of her lips. "There's no way he's going to let you go to China, but there's no way he's _not _going to help you out with living expenses."

"You're sure I wouldn't be intruding on your privacy?" April had her _concerned _face on.

"I…" Rory started, "…it would probably help me to not be alone here with the kids. I'm not used to it, and it's kind of nerve wracking, to be honest." In reply to April's eyebrows, "I know it's Stars Hollow and there's nothing to be _afraid of_. It's just weird; and it would probably help to have someone else around - another adult, I mean."

April picked up one of the boys' t-shirts and started folding. "It's settled then," she said definitively.

The eldest of the Gilmore-Danes daughters raised her eyebrows with a deep intake of air, considering this. "You should maybe give it a trial run."

April looked a little floored at this.

"Completely involuntarily, I'm kind of a lot of drama right now. And you're not used to living with toddlers. That can get crazy. And then, there's the couch…and the cramped space. I've lived with roommates before. I'm sure we could make it work. I'm just not positive that you'll wind up happier here than rooming in a half-falling down front for a crack house closer to campus."

"_Okay, _then…"April said slowly and with a pickled expression.

"That was my senior year experience."

"And you think Dad will have a problem with China."

"Luke did _not_ see the crack den."

_**A/N: I know there isn't a whole lot of meat to this chapter, but every little review helps. ;-)**_


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